


This Was No Accident - REWRITE AND EDIT

by Girlinaband



Series: stealing other peoples works and changing it [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Abusive Father, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anorexia, Attempted Murder, Bipolar Ryan, Bulimia, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Murder, Child Neglect, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eating Disorders, Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mpreg, PTSD Ryan, Paranoid Ryan, Self-Harm, Service Dogs, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, child molestation, child rape, gross living conditions, only a little lactation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 87,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girlinaband/pseuds/Girlinaband
Summary: i rewrote this from this fic herehttps://archiveofourown.com/works/1852405its seriously gross and i fixed stuff then changed it to ryan whos pregnant. 2 parts, yeah idk. read the other before this because mine probs sucks lol





	This Was No Accident - REWRITE AND EDIT

A new torrential sweep of rain fell on the development as Brendon pulled his red hoody higher over his face and snuggled closer into Ryan's side. They were trying to enjoy their last day of summer together, relaxing on Brendon's porch as usual, but they seemed to be in the middle of a hurricane.  
Sitting on the plastic white folding chair on the opposite side of the sidewalk porch as the black bench, Spencer shared a suspecting glance with Jon, who sat on the other end of the bench of the cuddling pair.  
"You guys are so gay," Spencer said. "Stop cuddling."  
"It's cold and raining out here!" Brendon said. "It's for warmth." It was normal for all four of them to do that. Especially on snowy days, after ice fights they could huddle together without a second glance.  
"It's not even cold out."  
"Yes it is. Shut up."  
With her black pea coat pulled tightly around her, Grace stepped out of her house. She closed the door, but before she went to her car to drive to her job, she lifted an eyebrow at her son cuddling with the other boy. "Trying to tell me something, B?"  
"No!" he said quickly and slid forcefully away from Ryan, knocking hard into Jon.  
"Dude! Watch it."  
"Sorry!" Brendon looked back up to his mom. "I'm not gay. Why is everyone here so obsessed with me being gay?"  
"I'm not obsessed. Just, are you sure?" she asked as she leaned down to kiss his head.  
"Positive."  
"You know it would be ok if you are," she said  
"I. Am. Not. Gay."  
"Your mom thinks you're gay," Spencer snickered.  
"Ok," she said. Brendon stood to hug her and she squeezed him tight. "I'm going to work, okay? Nobody's allowed over, only answer the phone if it's me, lock the door, and call me when you're gonna eat."  
"You're too overprotective."  
"I want you to be safe!"  
"Mom, I'm 16 and you tell me the same things every day," he said. "I mean, really? I have to call you while I'm eating?"  
"Of course! I know somebody whose son choked to death while eating home alone. He was 37."  
"Well whatever," Brendon said. He picked at his finger nails. "Are you coming home for lunch?"  
"No, I should have a conference call, but it still might be pushed to tomorrow. So no letting anyone over and no going over anyone else's house, ok?"  
Brendon rolled his eyes and plopped back down to his seat. "K, Mom."  
"Alright," Spencer started, standing once they had all finished waving Grace goodbye through the heavy sheets of rain they were only barely protected from by the overhang over the porch. It was rare they would stay out in rain, unless playing in it. But it was the last day of summer. Still, he'd had enough and would rather video games. "I'm going in."  
"Can I come over?" Jon asked.  
The first nodded in a yawn and stretch. "You two?"  
"Spencer!" Brendon said while surreptitiously tugging on Ryan's jacket. "You heard my mom! No going over other people's houses!"  
He scoffed. "You act as if you actually listen to her. You, Ryan?"  
"Em.. nah. I'm not sure if my dad's up yet and he's been sorta weird lately. He might get angry if he sees I'm not home. I should probably go back now."  
"You know the deal," Spencer said half-heartedly. "If you're ever in real trouble: Jon's is closest, but you can hide in my house or B's." He tried not to sound like a broken record.  
Ryan nodded. "Yeah, yeah." It was the same thing every day. "I'll be fine."  
"You don't have anything new, do you?" Jon asked. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know, but it was a bit of a routine question. Like a check up.  
Ryan pulled his hoody away to show his neck, and then lifted his tattered, scrappy jean leg to show a piece towards the bottom of his tiny calf. He nodded almost admirably at it. It was a good one.  
On the bench, Brendon found his knees to face Ryan. "Why?"  
The dirty one sighed. He was exhausted from all of this. "I came in way too late, last night. I deserved it."  
"You went in at seven," Brendon said. His nose was a little wrinkled. "I was with you. You only stayed out till seven."  
"Seven is too late. I should've known that, B. And now I do. He disciplined me last night for doing something wrong. I won't do it again, now."  
"Seven is too late?"  
"Yeah, it fucking is."  
"You need to tell someone," Spencer said quickly. It was only the trillionth time they'd suggested it, all too soft on him to do it themselves when they threatened. "Call the police. Before I do, I'm serious this time."  
Ryan lifted his lip just slightly and cocked his head at Spencer. "There is nothing wrong with this, you fucking peasant. I am his son, his kid. He has the right to discipline me without you all out here threatening to call the cops. I did something wrong and physical discipline is his way of correcting me."  
"This isn't 'discipline', this is child abuse," Jon said. "He's messing you up, physically and mentally. You're gonna be messed up from this."  
Ryan was only looking more and more dangerous as they continued to comment, but Spencer kept on anyway, not afraid. Ryan flew off the handle far too often to be normal, and randomly, too. Sometimes he would agree that he needed help, but calmly ask that they keep quiet until he was ready to say goodbye to his father he loved so much, and had a good place to stay. He'd admit that he got terrible anxiety thinking about ever leaving, and only found comfort in fantasies of running away knowing they were only fantasies. Sometimes he would defend his father. Promise none of it hurt. That the 'man' didn't give him anymore open wounds, not in a long time, though they knew that wasn't true. That it was only a few hits that he could always handle. He said that the closet was no big deal and, really, he could bust out if he liked. But, sometimes, Ryan fell into some awful rages, where he screamed at them something vulgar and he came after them to hurt and often kill. Lucky for his friends, however, Ryan was only fed on Sundays. And even towering above the tallest -Spencer (so far), at 6' flat, Ryan was no match. He did his best to intimidate and threatened everything he could, but he never left more than a small brown bruise and maybe a pink scratch if his brittle nails could handle it.  
"Ryan, it isn't fucking right! I sort of care about you, you fuck face, I'm not gonna stand by and watch him kill you slowly!"  
Ryan shot up and shoved Spencer back. "Fuck you! You don't know anything." he roared and went for the neck. "You'd better mind your own fucking business before I kill you."  
Spencer was the strongest of them all anyway and had no trouble twisting, pulling Ryan's twig-like arm off, and pushing him hard back into the bench. "You need to relax."  
Ryan crossed his arms, almost smugly, and looked Spencer up and down. He almost wanted to gain weight just to be able to murder them all, and then lose it again. He spit on Spencer's feet and didn't flinch from a groan and balling of fists.  
"When's the last time you cut?" Brendon asked, playing with his hands. Maybe it was odd that his and Ryan's self harm was such an easy, open topic for them all. They got teased for it, called faggots, but that was never what caused it in the first place, bullying. Not from friends or piers, anyway. And he wanted anything to distract Spencer so he would relax.  
"Last night," he grumbled and pulled up his sleeve. He showed a shooting match of red, and some pink, deep, deeper than Brendon would ever dare, long slits, beaded with big, black blobs of blood. There were frozen rivulets among smears of the vital fluid on the dirty, never before washed arm.  
Carefully trailing a finger over the wounds, Brendon frowned, making Ryan flinch, but not pull away from trusted hands. "You need to stop," he said quietly, hoping the torrential enough downpour would drown him out to his 'just friends' friends.  
"You do it," Ryan said. He was regretting lying, saying he had to go inside.  
Brendon shook his head. "Never this deep. What if you hit a vein?"  
"God, I hope I do."  
"I stopped."  
"Oh, you did?" Ryan asked, turning to him with a smile. He ignored the weird looks he got from Jon and Spencer for the clearly-too-affectionate-for-them response. "That's so good. I'm glad."  
Brendon gave a weak smile. He needed more research, at least, pretty sure that that was just a stereotype.  
Thunder cracked loud and close, and with the blink of Brendon's eyes, Jon and Spencer were gone, running to safety. "Do you really have to go?" he asked charily.  
Ryan shook his head. "No. I only said that because I thought you wanted me to stay."  
"Yeah, I-. Want to come over?"  
"Yeah, sure. I'm just gonna go get a drink real quick, ok? I'm dying, but I'll be fast."  
A smile slipped onto his lips and he nodded. "You can just let yourself in, ok?"  
Brendon only needed to wait a few minutes to have Ryan, dripping wet and slightly cleaner from the hard falling rain, smell neutralized enough for the two so used to it, to come inside.  
Brendon set the remote down. He was trying to decide if background noise would be better than not. He slowly approached Ryan, still standing in front of the closed door, as seductively as he could without being obvious. He cocked his hips and his hands found Ryan's chest. "Um," he started, sounding less confident than he appeared. He swallowed and led Ryan to the couch, though Ryan didn't sit down. Not without a towel.  
"We don't have to do anything you don't want," he said and saw Ryan's eyes immediately open wider. But he went on to justify his suggestion before making it. "But we're 16 and 17 and we've been together for, what? Two years. Well, I don't mean together like that obviously. But. We do things anyway, and I trust you to go further with me. And it's the last day of summer. So maybe... I think you know what I'm asking."  
Ryan gave a weak smile and nodded. "Sex? Like real sex?"  
Brendon returned it. "Do you want to try?"  
"Yeah, man. Of course."  
"Really?" he asked, but didn't wait for another answer. "Ok, we need to go get some lube and condoms, and I think we-."  
"Why?" Ryan interrupted. "We don't need that stuff. You must have lotion or oil or something here already."  
"Can you really do that?"  
Ryan nodded. "Yeah, of course. It won't hurt me."  
"Then condoms," Brendon said. "You can go on your bike?"  
Ryan shook his head.  
"Well then let me borrow it and I'll go. I should anyway since you're so weak and all."  
Ryan shook his head again. "No, why do we need condoms?"  
"Because. Safe sex."  
"What? Are you stupid?" he asked and lifted an eyebrow at Brendon's hurt look. "I mean-. Babe, I know you're not stupid, don't take it like that." He also knew Brendon was very sensitive, especially when it came to his intelligence. Ryan was sure the teasing, the bullying Brendon got from his father was worse than any scrape or bruise he got. Ryan was very glad to see Boyd, Brendon's dad, go to live in a whole other country with a different family than to know he was still with him, abusing him and making him feel sad. It was no wonder Brendon had stopped his self harming ways now about a year after his father had gone. Brendon wasn't very happy to see him go, and felt abandoned, Ryan knew, but maybe he was starting to heal.  
Ryan sighed, angry with himself at Brendon's clearly watering eyes. "Babe."  
"I am stupid," Brendon whined. "Just go, you don't want to be with a stupid, fat, ugly fucking idiot."  
Ryan didn't even point out jokingly that the sentence was very redundant. Fat and ugly with stupid and idiot. "You're not,' he promised. "Now stop, stop crying. Have sex with me babe, let's go do it. Come on. I love you, you fucking perfect, beautiful, intelligent little angel."  
Brendon giggled and pushed Ryan's hips back; they were being pushed to his face. "Stop it."  
"Come on. We don't need condoms, my love. We're both virgin boys. Let's go, go, come on."  
Brendon was at least glad to see Ryan was so excited. "Can you even have sex?" he asked, almost in passing while he led Ryan to his room.  
"What do you mean? Of course I can. Can you?"  
"I'm not 50 pounds under weight."  
"55, you ass. Don't insult me if we're gonna do this."  
Brendon rolled his eyes, glad the tone was playful. "I'm serious. Can you?"  
"Yeah, man. Of course I can. If I can come over and do that other shit why can't I do this?"  
Brendon took his shirt off, crossing his hands at the bottom hem and pulling it up to invert it. He fiddled nervously with his belt, next.  
"Yeah," Ryan said, trailing off while watched Brendon, distractedly taking his heavy jacket off slowly. "How do you wanna do this?"  
Brendon shrugged as he was already bringing Ryan to the bed. Their lips were quickly locked and they refused to pull away even as they had trouble getting onto to the bed. Ryan pulled impatiently, but Brendon couldn't move fast enough for him.  
Grace pushed open the door, sighing at the fact that she didn't need her key. She trudged over to Brendon's room, seeing he wasn't already on the couch, and pushed his door open further, ready to scold him. Instead, she froze at the sight of the two boys naked and in bed.  
Ryan had his sheets in one fist and Brendon's wrist in another while he laid on his stomach, Brendon on top and pounding into him. He moaned into his mattress while Brendon made no other noise than making their skin smack together. And only he was disturbed by his front door slamming shut. "Get off," he hissed, and twisted away to shove Ryan flat onto the bed. "Get dressed."  
Grace fell onto the drying wooden bench and hid her face away to cry. It wasn't long before the door opened and closed again and her son was next to her.  
"What's the matter? What's wrong?"  
She shook her head. "Nothing."  
"Why are you crying, Mom?"  
She pointed to her flowers. "They're dying."  
"So? It's making you cry?"  
"Yeah, but I'm fine. I'm just getting my period, is all. They just need water."  
Brendon quickly grabbed the blue watering can. "Come on, let's go water them ok?"  
Ryan waited to hear the awful screeching of someone turning on the water spicket of Brendon's house. He peeked out of the window, first, and ran when he saw no one was there.  
"Baby, it's overflowing. You've got enough water."  
"Oh, yeah, you're right."  
~~~  
Brendon moaned, waking up at five in the morning. He needed to be at the bus stop by six, so five was rather early when he would only need ten minutes to dress and eat. But he wanted to go early because he knew Ryan would, too. Ryan liked to wake up and go, no matter the time. He would do anything to be out of the house. Brendon could even remember a week when he slept outside, in a stretch of trees and foliage on its own, on some cardboard. It then got too cold, and he never went back.  
He first went to the bathroom, as usual. His book bag was a lot heavier than he remember it was when he packed it the day before. But he pushed that all to the back of his head, not worrying about it. His grandmother was coming to visit for a week that day for her doctor appointment, so he was going to try and enjoy what classes he had with Ryan before he had to get an earful about bowel movements.  
Brendon smiled when he rounded the corner and found Ryan standing by himself, doing nothing but kicking his knee to some beat in his head. Brendon had on relatively new and just cleaned converse sneaker, black skinny jeans, and an un-tucked, white button down with his square, red glasses and black, clean hair pushed to the side, out of his eyes.  
Ryan smiled at Brendon despite the stinging from his neck and chest. He did nothing special for school, just woke up and went. His hair was tangled into an almost dripping with grease mat, he had the same old stubble he trimmed with scissors in order not to have a full on beard, but rather a creepy moustache and even greasier, dirtier looking face. Ryan had on what he wore everyday: a sweatshirt- holy and covered in dirt and blood that looked like dried mud, lucky for him; a heavy jacket that was brownish green; and a pair of cut up and torn up, holy, blood spattered, jeans. His socks were just the band around his ankles, and only one at that, and sneakers whose soles were completely absent. So he walked with covering for the tops of his feet to trick any teacher who might want to get him in trouble for wearing no shoes. It was all he had, and all of it smelled like shit, but he had no choice. The only nice thing he had for his first day of school was a pack of cigarettes in his coat, two water bottles of vodka, and a notebook Brendon tricked his mother into getting for a kid not her own.  
Brendon strutted right over and took Ryan's hand to lace fingers and leaned his head on Ryan's arm. He didn't care what Ryan looked or smelled like, only tried to breathe out of his mouth more. They reluctantly pulled apart when more kids started to show up.  
All of their schedules matched for lunch, which was a luxury compared to the year before when each of them had to eat alone. Ryan already knew he had a study hall with Jon and his math and language class with Brendon.  
Brendon had Gym first semester, first period, and Ryan of course had Health first period, first semester so that they just missed each other. Brendon was feeling oddly sluggish, so it was good for him that his teacher didn't make them exercise that day, but rather went over contracts. Ryan was feeling unusually bored in his freshman health class. He had been held back in fifth grade, so this year he got to learn about alcohol for literally the tenth time, while the year before he had Driver's Ed. But he already knew everything there was to know about the drink. He knew what it did, how it could affect a person and how a person could gain tolerance. He knew how to buy it and what a hangover looked and felt like. His health teacher was mind-blowingly annoying. She droned and laughed occasionally at things he wasn't even sure were jokes. She stood right in front of his row of desks, only his row, completely blocking his view of the board. Plus, this class was made even worse by having Ben, another sophomore, sitting right behind him. He was lucky to be spared the first day, so far, but knew he would be poked and prodded with nicely sharpened pencils. Be bullied for his appearance and teased for his being a faggot.  
Ryan sighed when Ben kicked his desk close to the end of the period. He ignored the second and final jolt while he wrote down the supplies he would never get with a pen and notebook B had tricked his mom into buying extra for him, saying he needed more than he did. Truthfully, he could very well have gone out and bought them himself- he had the money. But if buying one or two extra notebooks didn't completely strap B's mom, he would much rather take from her. He was trying to save his money, maybe for an emergency, but much rather for he wanted to be able to run away with Brendon, someday.  
Second period and Brendon had Accounting with the sweetest woman for a teacher he's ever known. They didn't do much, so he daydreamed of getting a ticket with Ryan's and going away to be together. Of course forever and ever, like a fairy tale.  
Second period- Ryan had his Science class. This one was at least more eventful, he could say.  
He walked in on the bell to then have the tiny, tiny teacher shoot him a glare that he reflected. All the kids in the room groaned, and the three at the table the teacher trained his attention to, even more so. "George?" she asked. "Yup," he answered, dropping into his seat and trying to pretend he didn't notice everyone else scooting away.  
Mrs. Bose was so angry she got this kid. She recognized him from the halls from last year. He was disgusting and also apparently very rude. "You're late."  
"No, I'm not,' Ryan said. "First of all, I walked in on the bell, not after. And second, you can't even be late on the first two days of school, no matter your grade."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Should I repeat?" he snapped at her, turning to glare. He got terrible treatment at home already; he wasn't taking any shit here. No way was this bitch going to tell him he was late. He could see her fuming as he opened his first of two liquor filled bottles.  
"Would you like a detention?" She was not going to let this offensively smelly student do this to her.  
"Yeah, I would love one, actually." Anything was better than going home. Especially detentions. Why wouldn't anyone want to sit in a silent room with a chance to do their homework or relax, when they could be going to his rat run house instead?  
Mrs. Bose let go of an excessive sigh as she wrote out his pass. "This is not going to work all year," she warned as she handed it to him.  
"Then stop being such an awful bitch and it won't be kept up," he returned as he crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket on the big jacket.  
"Written up," she snapped loudly. "You're getting written up."  
"Alright?" He didn't even know what a write up did. "Go ahead." Ryan really did not care at this point. None of this mattered; he wasn't trying to get into college or anything.  
She shook her head slowly, dramatically as she jotted something down in her notebook. "Don't skip that detention."  
"It's in my pocket for very important things, miss," he promised.  
"Alright, George," she said while she gathered the papers she needed to hand out.  
"Please, don't call me George."  
She squinted a little with anger and confusion. He mocked her, but she ignored it. "Your name is George, therefore I'm going to call you George."  
"I won't answer."  
"Yes, you will."  
"No, I actually fucking won't!" he roared, getting so angry he jerked forward in his chair a little, making it clank against his desk under the scream. He went to school to get away from his father, not to get disrespected by some cunt he could lift his foot to squash.  
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she asked in quiet shock.  
"Ryan. My name is Ryan."  
Mrs. Bose wrote out another slip for detention and tried to stand as far from his as possible to hand it over. "Here, George." Her eye caught a big purple stain on his neck when he looked away. He probably deserved it, she knew he did. Maybe he fell or a friend got him by accident, but she knew he had to deserve whatever bad karma came his way.  
Ryan started to reach out for it, but then she had gone and called him George. George was not his name.  
"George, take the damn pass," she spat. "I'm not playing games. You're wasting my time."  
"No I am fucking not. You're wasting my time."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Guess what? None of the kids in here give a single fuck about anything you have to say. You're a disgusting little troll. So do not disrespect me by calling me that wretched fucking name when I clearly asked you to use my middle name. And I will not disrespect you. Pretty simple, I would say."  
"I'm disgusting?"  
"Look, I know I'm gross, ok? But at least I'm not two foot tall. And at least I would never stack kids for being late when they're not."  
"George is your name so I will call you George. That is not disrespectful. And I can also smell you from across the school. You will not disrespect me because I am the teacher and you are the student."  
"Look, you know nothing, ok? I try not to get into fights with people like you, but you're ridiculous. You know nothing, you fucking eejit. I have seen shit, ok? I've been through stuff you'd never imagine, and I will tell you right now you know nothing of disrespect. I know what respect is and if you even tried to be in my shoes for one day, you would be killed an hour in. You will not call me George, am I understood?"  
Her temper was ready to flare the more he got in her face until she lost it. "Don't you dare tell me you've seen shit you thirteen year old brat. I am a war veteran and I know what respect means. Calling a rotten kid by their first name is not disrespectful by any means. George is what your mother named you. And now I will give her a call and let her know what a horrible job she did and how you are taking over my class," she spat. The class got quiet around her and the boy was looking more solemn, but only for a moment.  
"My mother's dead, you piece of shit."  
The room remained silent while she tried to think of something to say. She couldn't apologize to him, now. He would think what he was doing was ok and that he could get away with it if he brought up his dead mother.  
"Yeah, you're a bitch, do you know? My mother died when I was eleven and I'll tell you I've been going through nothing worse than hell for the last six years of my life, ok? I'm seventeen and I can guarantee I've been through worse than you have in your stupid fucking army."  
"Did you really just call the army stupid? And tell a vet you've seen worse? Because I've got new for you, kid. In the war you fight for your life every second of every day. It is tough shit and nothing to be taken lightly. I've watched friends die."  
"So have I. Look, I'm not gonna get into it, you know?" he asked, sitting back and relaxing his muscles again. "Let's keep this light the first day of school, huh? Maybe later we can trade traumatizing stories to pass the time, ok? Because I can't sleep at night, anyway. I'm in danger every moment of my life."  
"Cool. I'll alert the CPS and they can get you taken care of. Okay?"  
He shot back forward and matched their noses. "I swear to fucking god, you breathe a word and I will murder your family."  
"So you want to stop lying to be cool and take another detention? Or should I send real help to your house so you can tell them they wasted their emergency services on you because you wanted a tragic back story?"  
"I'll take the detention. And actually, why don't you give me two? I'd say I deserved two."  
"Four detentions on the first day of class. Good Job," she spat and slapped down the two more passes along with the first he never took.  
Since she didn't call him George, Ryan crumpled the next papers and put them with the other.  
"What's that on your jeans?"  
"Mud."  
She shook her head and heaved a sigh. "You shouldn't-."  
"Sorry, my mother died too soon to teach me to clean myself up. Would you like to take this chance to mock her some more? She won't know."  
"You should know better to not come to school filthy. Where's your dad?"  
"Absent."  
"Who do you live with?"  
"My dad."  
"Don't wear those to school anymore, then. Pick another pair." Maybe he was just going for that look. Creepy and weird and covered in blood. He wouldn't be the first.  
"They're my only pair," he snapped without thinking. He was just so angry he could kill her. Who did she think she was?  
"Your only pair?" she asked without emotion. There was no way this boy, as uncivilized as he seemed, had just one pair of pants.  
"I-I mean, miss," he stammered, mockingly, not even looking up from his notebook he was doodling in. "Don't fucking tell me which of my clothes to wear."  
She just stepped away. There was nothing else she could do. It was only the first day of school; what was the rest of the year going to be like? And she never had a student act out like this on the first day of school, if ever. This was just absurd.  
"Ok!" she started again to the class and introduced herself before she could go over the rules.  
Ryan picked up his things again when he saw the bell was going to ring. He didn't have a bag, it was just more money he was unwilling to spend. And anyway, Spencer had said Ryan could have his old one, from the year or two before. The bell rang and Ryan got up, though Mrs. Bose was still talking. "I dismiss you, not the bell," she shouted after him. He yelled back, "Shut THE FUCK up!" and moved to squeeze by the crowd to get to his study hall with Jon.  
~~~  
After a great period of English with his so far favourite teacher, Brendon had lunch with his friends. And that couldn't have come too soon. He was starving, regretting not packing anything to snack on during the day.  
Brendon dropped his bag on the seat next to Ryan, across from Jon and Spencer who already had their lunch and glared at them in a way he hoped they would take as playfully.  
"Please," Brendon begged and pouted having returned from the lunch line, armed with an extra snack for Ryan. He pushed the cracker close, hoping to taunt him a little and make him give in and eat it. His other friends called him gay, but Brendon only rolled his eyes at it and continued with his boyfriend. "Eat it," he sang.  
Ryan started rocking uneasily in his seat when he took the bag and turned it around to see the calorie count. It was way too high, he couldn't eat them. But he could smell the lunch, a chicken patty on a bun with fries, as it was every day. Everybody had one but him and was packing it away. Every year he had gotten used to not eating while being surrounded by food, but every first day back was a struggle. Finally, Ryan slammed the bag down on the table, crushing and spilling its contents by mistake. He got up and approached the thinning line.  
Brendon smiled after his limping love. Jon and Spencer watched.  
Ryan got up to the self-serve food line and picked up the regular, a sandwich on fries in a paper basket. He wanted to take all of them on display, he knew he could eat them all, but only one would fit. He looked around and opened his jacket, picking up a basket and sliding it sideways into the inner pocket of his nasty coat while turning on his heels and walking right out.  
"Hey!" he heard someone shout, but didn't stop until a passing freshman bumped his shoulder and pointed. "Did you just take food? You have to pay for it," a rather short, plump man said. He had a black, constricting apron on.  
Ryan knit his eyebrows a little, to look surer of himself. "No, I know. I didn't take anything." The man lifted an eyebrow. Ryan smiled, knowingly, it would appear. "See, I was gonna get something, but then I realized I forgot my money. So... no big deal."  
The man nodded and Ryan turned again and kept walking. He glanced to his table to see his friends watching, but didn't return to them. He made his way, instead, right up to the supervising staff and asked to go to the bathroom. He frowned and furrowed his eyebrows when she covered her nose and mouth and nodded, taking a step back. It wasn't his fault, none of this was. But, then again, he WAS the one who didn't know how to clean up vomit and get rid of rats when it was still possible to manage. The teachers starting, all three of them, including the first woman, (who also stepped back) laughed in his face at the sad look he gave. They laughed right at him. It wasn't funny. He looked upset by the first's reaction and they thought it was funny. Teachers were supposed to be the supportive ones, specifically the ones who didn't laugh. Ryan shook his head a little, disappointed with them, and found the bathroom pass.  
Brendon groaned when he saw Ryan approach the teachers. He knew Ryan was asking to use the bathroom and that only meant he wasn't planning on keeping his meal down long. B got up and went to follow him. The teachers seemed too busy laughing to tell him someone else had just gone.  
Ryan pushed the teachers to the back of his head and found the closest boy's bathroom. He made sure it was all cleared out before sliding down the far wall.  
Brendon made it just in time to watch Ryan eagerly spill the contents of his inner pocket all over the tile floor. Ryan ate four or five of the fries at a time, absolutely inhaling them, before grabbing the sandwich and hungrily pushing as much of it in his mouth as he could. The different pieces separated, but Ryan didn't seem to mind. He didn't let anything go to waste.  
Ryan caught his breath and looked at what he had done. He checked to make sure that there was nothing else in his pocket and was disappointed when it was empty. The regret was starting to come in, he was upset with himself. How could he have done that? He ate the entire thing right off the bathroom floor with a puddle of piss not two feet away. How many calories was that? Too many, that was all Ryan knew. He angrily shoved his shoulders back to the wall and sobbed into his hands. He was pathetic.  
Brendon heaved a sigh and walked up carefully. "Babe?"  
Ryan cried a little harder. So Brendon had seen it?  
B dropped to the floor and gently straightened Ryan's legs so he could sit on his lap and wrap his arms around the other's shoulders. Brendon kissed Ryan's temple and put the crying one's head on his own shoulder to pet his hair and rub his back. "It's ok, you're ok," he promised.  
Ryan shook his head urgently. He very suddenly shoved Brendon off and rushed to the toilet where he didn't bother to close the door before bending over from his full height to expel everything from his stomach before he could work on the bile.  
Brendon sighed and found himself shaking his head while he watched. He made sure Ryan knew he was disappointed when they found each other's eyes on Ryan's way to check his waistline in the mirror. Then he got to sigh and shake his head some more at the two fresh carvings in his skin, going from his hips up to his neck. Brendon knew they must have come from the hooked end of a frozen food saw- the last knife left in the Ross home. Ryan told him that he had come in at the wrong time: that it was his fault and he deserved it.  
There was no right time to come inside.  
Ryan wasn't very satisfied with his body. His thighs weren't small enough and if he sucked in his stomach, he could get thinner than he really was. He wanted to be as thin as possible, not just near it.  
~~~  
Ryan walked into his English class still feeling disgusted from his lunch the period before. He glared at Mrs. Lustig smiling at him. Nobody smiled at him, they covered their noses and mouths and stepped back to give him dirty looks from a safer distance. Nobody ever smiled.  
"Ok," Mrs. Lustig muttered under her breath and resumed greeting the rest of the incoming class. She hoped she wouldn't have too much trouble with him. She wasn't really sure what to think of him. He seemed mean. He was definitely dirty, but she didn't want to judge him based off of that.  
George had stayed pretty quiet the whole class, silent even, except for the groan at the boy Ben assigned to sit next to him. She was sure to jot down that he preferred his middle name- Ryan- when she got to him. He sort of spat it at her, but she didn't address that.  
As the class went on, Mrs. Lustig noticed a big, purple bruise on Ryan's neck when he repeatedly glanced at the clock on the wall. She could only wonder what it was from, but she would report it anyway, just in case there was no accident.  
~~~  
German was the only class that Ryan smiled at the teacher in; he had had her the year before for his German 1. He had this class with Brendon. The Art teacher Ryan could just tell was a total bitch. She, Mrs. Herablassend, seemed to really like to show off and clearly thought she was much better than her class of Art 1 students.  
Ryan again glared at the waiting teacher, this time in his Math class, Geometry last period. At least he had this class with Brendon. He sat in the back with him until they were organized into alphabetical order. He was still in the back, but Brendon was in the first seat, second row starting at the teacher's desk, opposite the door. The class was very loud, rambunctious and chatty. But, that was pretty good for Ryan. In the very back, in this class, he shouldn't be picked on much- by students or teachers.  
~~~  
Brendon rolled his eyes and played with the cord on the phone. "You told me to call when I got home."  
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I wasn't actually expecting you to. Clean the whole house before your Grandmother gets there, ok? And I mean actually clean it, Brendon."  
"Ok," he groaned, very irritated. "Can Ryan come over?"  
"No!"  
B was so frustrated from his first day at school, then his mom insulting him right there, he just wanted to smash the phone and bash his head. "It's for school," he growled. "He needs to."  
"What do you mean? Today was your first day, what could you possibly have to do?"  
"A letter of introductory," he answered as calmly as he could. "It's for our English class. We have to type, like, two or three pages about ourselves."  
"So why do you think he gets to come over for that? How could you possibly help each other?"  
"Because. He's, like, my best friend. We were gonna work on each other's for the part where we need a friend and help each other 'cuz it's the same assignment. Plus, it needs to be typed and it's due tomorrow. And no, Ryan doesn't have a computer. Jon is using his mom's work laptop that she won't let anyone else borrow and Spencer's is a piece of crap, he'll only have time to do his own if it works for him at all."  
Grace groaned. This had better be a real assignment and not something he was making up just to get his boyfriend over.  
"Grandma will be here and I'll make sure it's really clean before I let him in," B promised. He knew she was ready to say no because no one would watch them, even though she thought they were both straight and they were 16 and 17 anyway, old enough to hang out and work on homework together unsupervised.  
"Fine," she sighed with exasperation. "But only have him over once Grandma is there. And if I find out you've lied about any of this..."  
"I know. Thanks, Mom."  
Finally, after what felt like forever of cleaning, the door opened and his grandmother walked in. He greeted her happily and brought her to the table where she sat most of her stays, just reading a book or on her computer. She would only be staying the week, fitting a visit in with needing to come for the specialist in the area.  
"I'm going to go and get my friend," he said, returning with a pillow for her back. "We're gonna do some homework."  
"Your mother knows you're having someone over?"  
Brendon nodded. "Yeah, I've already asked. I'll be right back."  
"I need to get you some Proactive for your face," she blurted out before he could turn away.  
B froze. He had found one pimple that morning after such a long time of nothing. "I already have some," he mumbled, though he hadn't used it in so long, since he hadn't really needed it.  
"It doesn't work," she said, laughing.  
He didn't answer to that, only left. Ryan was just across the court. He felt like crying.  
B took in a deep breath after taking the longest possible route to Ryan's door to try and give himself time to calm down a bit. He pulled his shoulders back and carefully knocked on the window pane. He was always cautious, knocking on Ryan's door. He was reminded again why he was when he heard Ryan's dad scream, "Get off your lazy, fat fucking ass and get the GODDAMN DOOR YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Go on, you useless fuck!" He frowned at Ryan rubbing the back off his head with a pained expression on his face. "Yeah?" he asked.  
"Are you gonna come over? For the paper?"  
"God, please. Sir, I'm going over Brendon's!"  
"Don't you dare fucking TELL ME what you're doing! You ask, you shit stained garbage! Now get the fuck OUT OF MY HOUSE!"  
Ryan groaned and turned to pull the door shut, smiling nervously at Brendon at the sound of glass shattering against it. "Let's go."  
"Look at your shoes, babe," Brendon said as they walked, arms bumping, behind the houses to get to B's house just across the way. He needed some privacy before they went in, he wanted a hug.  
Ryan shrugged and let his hand find B's as his bare feet hit the grass.  
"Can you just take my old pair, already?" B groaned.  
"No, they're way too small."  
Brendon was at least glad that Ryan sounded happy. "But, babe. Your shoes aren't even really real shoes anymore."  
"I'll treat myself," he promised. "I'll buy a pair soon, ok?"  
"Ok," he sighed with as much exasperation and disappointment as he could muster, hoping to maybe guilt Ryan into going out on his bike later that day. He stopped them and turned to Ryan, eyes watering already.  
"What? Oh jeez, what? B?" Ryan said frantically.  
"Can you give me a hug?" he wined, lip sticking out. His shoulders were immediately wrapped with long, spindly arms and he was breathing in the strong shit and alcohol smell coming from Ryan's chest. He put his own arms tight around Ryan's near-nonexistent waist and nuzzled his face closer, trying not to gag. "Babe," he cried.  
Ryan went rigid. He had no idea what to do. "B, stop," he finally said. "Brendon, you're fine. Just stop."  
Brendon cried harder. "No, I'm sad."  
Ryan almost asked if he could be sad later, but caught himself. "Why? Don't be, ok? Let's just go do our homework, now."  
Brendon sniffled when he could tell Ryan was getting a little frustrated. "K," he whined and led him by the hand again. They weren't really dating, but that was all Brendon dreamed about. Being official. Still, they held hands and talked like they were. However, Brendon knew Ryan didn't like him like that or they would be boyfriends already.  
Ryan wasn't angry or frustrated, only too stunned to know what to do. He saw Brendon cry one time when he was hurt wrestling when they were eight, but that had been pretty much it. And this was emotional, he knew. It wasn't like he could just run and get his mom to kiss a boo-boo, he had to fix it. He was Brendon's partner now, after two years he had to know how to help B at some point. He was just caught off guard.  
"Um, my Grandma is sorta mean, so," he warned, calm again by the time they had make it back to the front of the houses and onto his porch. "Like, she just told me I need Proactive. She might tell you you're gross, but just pretend like you can't hear her, ok?"  
Ryan nodded. He was pretty used to everything by now anyway.  
Brendon grit his teeth when his Grandma asked, "This is him? You smell like shit, I know from over here! What's your name?"  
"Ryan, miss."  
"Ryan? You need to go take a shower, Ryan. And cut your hair. Aren't you a boy? You shouldn't have long hair."  
"Yes, ma'am."  
Brendon yanked him along. "We're going to do work," he growled. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him. He usually fawned over his Grandmother. He used to get so excited about her visits and cry when she had to go- when he was younger, at least. But now she was just annoying him and he couldn't wait for her leave on Friday.  
Ryan scoffed at Brendon's groan after a while, but B didn't care. His eyes were hurting from being so tired and staring at the screen for so long, and his stomach was growling loudly. "Break time," he announced.  
"Why?" Ryan asked, still typing.  
"I'm starving, aren't you?"  
"Actually, yes, I am."  
Brendon rolled his eyes. Ryan was just trying to be funny, not actually saying he was going to eat, which pissed Brendon off badly. "You have to have something, ok?"  
Ryan sighed and stood to follow B around the tiny kitchen the desk and computer were already in. "No, B. I really shouldn't."  
"And why not?" B asked sounding a little angry while he popped the microwave open.  
"Because," Ryan said in another vexed sigh. "I haven't really exercised in a while. And I just had cereal on Sunday, I kept it all down. More like a box of cereal, not just one bowl. I feel guilty. I need to go running and maybe pick up something healthy I can have on Sunday. I mean, I had pizza, too, but I brought that back up. But that doesn't change that it's bad and that I had it in my body."  
Brendon could feel tears welling up and his chin quivering again. He pulled Ryan further into the kitchen and spoke hushed, to get his boyfriend to follow. "But, Ryan," he griped and hung onto his jacket. "Ryan. People need food. Regularly, not just once a week.”  
"Yeah, well tell that to my dad," he snapped, grabbing B's wrists to squeeze. "He can make eating everyday kinda hard, you know."  
"But you could come here, baby. I'll feed you during the week. My mom won't notice. Or maybe we can tell her there's something wrong, we'll do it together. She's an adult; she can help us fix this. Babe, please," he whined desperately when Ryan rolled his eyes and started gently trying to push him back, off. "Baby, babe, you don't even eat every Sunday. You don't eat every time and you know it. You have dinner with him and you bring it right back up. Ryan, please, Ryan. Don't."  
"Its fine, Brendon, stop getting so upset, I'm fine."  
"You're not fine, you're sick," he said, voice faltering, arm dropping, and hip cocking.  
"B, I'm fine, I said," he said. "I'm not sick, ok? I’m fine. You’re just worrying over nothing."  
"Ryan, you're gonna die. One day, someday soon. I'll be at the bus stop and you won't. But you won't be in the closet. No, you'll be dead. In your bed, just lying there cold." He spat.  
"As long as I'm thin."  
A new wave of tears crashed over him and he moved to bury his face into Ryan's accommodating chest. "You're so weak like this," he kept on. "One day he'll just make your skull collapse. Or he'll break something and you'll be stuck and he'll have time to finish you off. All because your bones are too weak from malnutrition. Or maybe you'll finally suffocate from all that rat shit and his vomit and your vomit and the flies and maggots. But you'd have a better chance to last until the end of senior year, when you want to move out, if you would just eat. And stop chopping up your arm. Or maybe even let someone know what's going on. Ry, I'll tell. Just let me."  
"No, Brendon, now stop it. I'm fine. Not eating isn't making this any worse than it already is. Ok?"  
"Ryan you'll die from this alone."  
Ryan took Brendon's shoulders to squeeze while he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the other's forehead before he could pull him into a hug. "I just need you to relax, ok?" he said calmly and quietly. "I know I'm sick, ok? I promise I'll get better, but that can't happen until the situation I'm in gets better. I don't want to be removed from my home for his abuse or the dirtiness or the fact that I self harm and I have an eating disorder. I don't want to be removed at all. So maybe we can keep shooting to move out after we've both finished high school and see if we can't find jobs. Then, once everything's ok again, I'll try and stop."  
"Why can't you just try and stop now?" Brendon whimpered, holding Ryan close and looking up at him with forlorn, watering eyes. "Baby, please."  
Ryan sighed. "Love, it isn't easy."  
"But that doesn't mean you have to wait until you're out of that house to TRY, just TRY."  
Ryan gently pulled Brendon's face back to his chest and let his arms fold comfortably on his shoulders and back. "Just let me get to a point where I at least WANT to stop, again."  
"That never lasts long. Sometimes a week, then you're back to being bitter and mean about it. You'll want help and want to stop being anorexic for a little while, but then you're right back to it."  
Ryan had no answer for him. But the microwave's timer set off.  
Brendon sniffled and nudged Ryan to get him to rub his back for a few moments before he was calm enough to get the food and divide it between two plates.  
Ryan sat behind his heaping plate of baked mac and cheese that smelled nice, but that he didn't even want to touch. He sat across from Brendon's grandmother, whose bottom lip moved along with the words she was reading in her book. She looked kind, and she probably was, aside from the bluntness he didn't really blame her for when she met him, stinky and dirty and hunched. She had curly, jet black hair that was about the length of his while it was matted up like it was. She wore wire framed glasses, but Brendon had told him that she was blind in one eye after a stroke, though he would never have been able to tell.  
Brendon dug in immediately, shovelling food in his mouth and draining the glass of tea quickly. "You're so dumb," he said to the side, in a response to some vulgar hand motions under the table.  
"What did you just call him? Gay?"  
Brendon looked up and shook his head. His grandmother always surprised him with her still great hearing, while he had to always repeat himself a million times when speaking to his mother. "No," he said. "I called him dumb."  
"Oh," she grunted. "Well he's your friend; don't call him dumb or gay."  
"What's wrong with gay?" he asked, just to the side, not expecting her to hear it while he brought a new forkful to his mouth.  
"What do you mean?" she snapped. "Everything's wrong with being gay; now don't be mean to your friends."  
Brendon coughed and started choking on his food enough to call for Ryan to hit his back. He was definitely not expecting that. His grandmother often brought her bible with her, he knew that, he knew she was religious, but he never thought she would fall in with the some that thought homosexuals were bad. Though, maybe she thought that on her own? But still, he would never have thought. "Why?"  
"Because God says so! Says in the bible!"  
"That he wrote?"  
"Well not necessarily, but-."  
"So how do you know it was 'The Creator's wishes for no one to be gay?" he nearly snapped.  
"I'm sure he told someone what he wanted down."  
Brendon shrugged dramatically, clearly showing his impatience. "Why is it wrong? It's natural."  
Ryan gently touched B's knee under the table, trying to help him calm down before he did something he might regret later, like scream or even come out before he was really ready just out of anger.  
"What are you talking about?" she laughed. "That is NOT natural."  
"Sure it is," he said more nonchalant, leaning back to take a sip of tee. "We wouldn't do it without help of some chemical or machine if it weren't truly natural. And there are still loads of other species of animals that have homosexual partnerships."  
"It's not natural, Brendon. No matter what you say, it isn't natural for men to like men or women to like women." She sounded tired and over the topic. She knew she was right, she just was. There was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise.  
"Do you think it's a choice then?" he asked quietly. Even through everybody saying it wasn't, knowing it wasn't, he was pretty sure it wasn't. Maybe if he just looked at women for a while, women pieces, he could find what was so attractive. But that didn't mean he ever wanted to try. Because he knew he was attracted to males and knew that wouldn't change, for that at least there was no choice for him. He was happy, so there was no point in really assuring himself that he could at least try and be bisexual instead of gay.  
"Of course it's a choice, Brendon. It isn't natural and isn't something people are born to be."  
Brendon set his cup down and found Ryan's hand to hold where she couldn't see. "What about pansexual?" Ryan was one. He could see her slightly frustrated confusion and explained while he brushed his thumb over the back of his lover's hand, assuring he wasn't going to give him away. "Or bisexuals. Being pansexual is like- it's sort of like being bisexual; liking women and men, but it's more without any preference. Like, you would be gender blind, more focused on the person and not caring what their sex ends up being."  
She waved him away and shook her head, sighing. "No, Brendon. It's all wrong except for males being attracted to females and vice versa. That's it, that's what is natural and that's how God intended us to be."  
Brendon shook his head, very disappointed. He never expected this from his grandmother. His dad was completely for equal rights for all, he knew he would have no problem with it when he came out, or if he ever spoke to him again to let him know. This was his dad's mom. He was just caught really off guard. "What if I were gay?"  
"Well you're not so what does it matter?"  
"No, but what if I were?" he asked, trying not to let his voice sound too thick. "Like, would you just stop loving me, or...? I mean, I'm just asking."  
"No! I wouldn't stop loving you or visiting or e-mailing or anything like that, love bug. I would just be disappointed in you, Brendon. I would ask you to change, because I don't want you to sin like that in this one life you have. I wouldn't want you to be punished in the afterlife; I want to see you in heaven with all of us. Ok?"  
Brendon nodded. "Yeah, I'll be right back," he mumbled, hoping by talking quietly she wouldn't be able to hear how close he was to crying, and for the third time that afternoon.  
Ryan instinctively followed Brendon to his bedroom, closed the door after him, and climbed on the bed.  
Brendon curled up on his pillows and hugged his knees, sobbing into them before Ryan could even catch up and rest a hand on his back. "I'm sorry," he whined.  
Ryan dropped down, making the bed bounce more than he would have liked, and kissed B's nose. "Don't be sorry, ok?" he said, certainly a lot better than the first time, about an hour ago, at dealing with B while he cried. He just hoped he wouldn't get too much experience. No more than this. "Would you like me to hold you? We can just lay here?"  
Brendon nodded and rolled over, into Ryan's waiting, open arms. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I don't mean to cry over this."  
"No," he said quietly, running dirty fingers through Brendon's clean, soft black hair. "This is a good thing to cry over, love."  
"I know, but, babe, I don't want to cry in front of you over this of all things. Because, like, I don't know, I feel selfish for crying over it in front of you. Because if your family ever found out you had a boyfriend you would literally be killed. And you never cry. And now my grandmother, who I hardly ever see or talk to, just said she would even still love me, and now I'm sobbing in your arms and I don't know why, I'm just super sad today."  
Ryan nodded to what he said and let one hand find his stomach and hip to stroke gently. "Trust me, I cry. But now it's been... what? Three or four years since I've figured this all out. I cried, like, really hard when I finally realized I had a crush on you, and then the night of our first, erm. You know," he laughed. "So now, this is the first time anyone you know has said something like that to you. You get to cry, B, if you want. You don't have to have it the absolute worse of everyone to be able to cry. I've gotten over it now. You don't have to get over it anytime soon, or at all, really. But whatever, you get to cry over anything you like. Anything that makes you sad, ok?"  
Brendon wriggled back, closer. "We need to get back to work, babe," he whimpered. "On our papers."  
Ryan sat himself up quickly, just enough to kiss Brendon's cheek. "Yeah, we should."  
"But I'm still hungry first," he said, sitting himself up and helping the far-too-weak Ryan to do the same simple task.  
Ryan lifted his eyebrows when Brendon noticed him watching B pack away the entire plate. He smiled and crossed his legs. "Done?"  
Brendon pulled his lips over, thinking. "Are you gonna eat that?" he asked, pointing to Ryan's heavily loaded plate.  
Ryan quickly shook his head and immediately pushed the plate closer to him, to replace his first. "No, go ahead."  
Brendon sighed while he looked at it. Maybe he didn't need it, but he wanted it. "Are you sure you can't have any?"  
"Positive."  
Brendon looked at what he had done when he finished. His belly was aching, he felt like he needed to sleep forever. It was clearly straining against the already form fitting shirt, showing Ryan everything. Not that it was much, but definitely a bump was there. That Brendon was surprised to feel Ryan was rubbing gently. He gasped and pulled away; wanting to suck it in and hide, but knowing he couldn't, for the pain was too great.  
Ryan laughed a bit, hoping to lose the grandma's attention, make her think they were just fooling around like normal boys, just being normal friends. He adjusted himself in his pants, crossing his legs in way to conceal his arousal a little better and reached out for Brendon's tummy again. The other let him rub it this time. He wanted to take him back to the bed.  
Brendon pouted, but didn't protest anymore. He didn't want Ryan to see him like that. Not while Ryan was anorexic and near or about 50 pounds under weight and he definitely wasn't. But Ryan at least didn't seem to mind much.  
_____________  
Grace, after greeting her son's grandmother and skirting around a long conversation as best as she could, took notice of how the boys were sitting so close in the kitchen and how they laughed. "Hey, Ryan," she called and waved him over, but with something completely different than knowing he was her son's boyfriend on her mind.  
Ryan got up carefully. Maybe his stench had gotten so bad, too hard to handle, she was going to offer him another shower. Which he was hoping for, not minding the slight embarrassment when compared to the feeling of being clean for once. "Yes?" he asked, following her discreet example, leaning over slightly, but not close enough to force her to gag.  
Grace pulled him all the way to the other end of the kitchen. "Do you think you get enough to eat at home, sweetheart?" she almost muttered, not wanting to embarrass him in front of B.  
Ryan nodded, making sure he looked sure of himself. This was now the third time somebody had asked. One time it was his German teacher, then his Gym teacher from his freshman year, and now Grace. "Yeah, of course."  
"Are you sure?" She had asked about his hygiene before, asked if showers were actually an option for him. Ryan had really just dodged around it, giving, she was sure, a load of bull shit. But he didn't seem worried about it, so neither did she. And she wasn't his mother, she wasn't going to try and tell him he needed to bathe more often, that was up to his father to control. "You're looking pretty thin."  
Rubbing his thin and hollowed cheeks, Ryan gave a nod. "I'm positive, miss."  
She sighed, not yet dismissing him, and shook her head with thought while she studied his face and what she could of his neck that wasn't covered in his scrappy hoody. "I just-. Are you sure? I can give you something to eat right now, honey. Are you hungry?"  
Ryan shook his head, praying his stomach would stay quiet. "No, not at all. I-. Trust me, miss."  
"You must be hungry," she said, not wanting to give up.  
Ryan shook his head and smiled.  
"Can you eat something, anyway?" she finally asked, after a couple more moments of looking him over. "Just so I can be sure. You just-. You're so skinny to begin with and it looks like you've gotten thinner. Your... Your face looks hollow."  
He chuckled. "No, miss. I mean, this is just how I look. I'm sorry."  
"Do you promise you'll tell me if you're hungry?" she asked a tone of finality finally in her voice. "Today or whenever. You'll let me know- let me feed you?"  
He nodded, still with a nervous smile. "Yes, miss. If you like."  
"Ok," she sighed. "Go ahead."  
~~~  
"Did you know Grandma's homophobic?" Brendon asked his mom quietly, calling to her on the couch from his spot looking for food in the kitchen. His grandmother was just asleep in their guestroom.  
Grace's eyes got a little bit wider while she slowly set her phone down. She seriously hoped the old woman hadn't said anything to hurt his feelings, because she shouldn't even know at this point. She knew his grandmother would never do anything to hurt him, whether she knew he was gay or not, so she probably just rambled on, spewing out slurs.  
"Doesn't really surprise me," she answered. The woman was very religious, though it was still news to her.  
Brendon brought his bowl over and sat on the large, cushy ottoman to talk while he ate his ice cream before going to bed. "She said being gay is being an abomination, so," he said with his mouth full.  
Her jaw tightened. "How did you start talking about it?"  
Brendon shrugged carelessly. "Ryan and I were at the table and I was joking, I said, 'You're so dumb' but she thought I said gay and she was like... She went on. Gays choose it, they'll be punished in the afterlife, and they’re abominations... You know."  
He sounded a little sad while he took another big spoonful of ice cream. "Well you know, none of that is true, sweetheart. I certainly don't think those things. I mean, I don't really know if you're gay or not or bi, but whatever it is, you're welcome here."  
Brendon smiled at that. He opened his mouth, ready to let her know. But instead he said, "I-. Yeah, thanks, Mom." At least he didn't deny it this time.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mrs. Bose gritted her teeth and swung the door closed as angrily as she could when the disgusting, trouble making Ryan walked in on the bell again. She almost opened her mouth to tell him to hurry, but with the determined arguing the day before, she didn't want to try anything that might set him off. He didn't wear a scowl to class this time, but then maybe it was just that no one had put one on his face yet. However, he was limping. He wasn't limping the day before. Maybe it was just an act for attention like his show yesterday was, what with all his claiming to have seen people die and to have gone through worse than what vets have.  
Ryan let Spencer's old, ripped up bag drop heavily at his seat and ignored the questioning of his limp with a deep breath to calm himself down and a look just at the empty, black table to not set him off. He sat down without answering or ever planning to.  
Mrs. Bose, while getting papers from her desk, overheard something from Ryan's table, the closest, and definitely the nosiest one.  
"Ew," Daniel groaned when she got no answer. Why did she need to sit next to the infamous George Ryan Ross? "Don't you ever take showers?"  
Ryan couldn't help but to frown when everyone laughed. But that only made it funnier.  
"Yeah, like seriously," Rachel joined, just across from Daniel.  
Ryan could see that only a boy called Gary, across himself, wasn't laughing or even contributing his own jokes or remarks. He was starting on the notes while their homework got handed out. More things were said, Ryan overhearing some of the awful ones.  
Ryan buried his face away to his arms, folded on the table top.  
"Oh my god! Is he crying?"  
Ryan shot up at that, before he really did start, and shoved his chair as hard as he could back to the desk. He grabbed his bag and new paper and went to sit at the empty table, the seat furthest from everyone.  
"Ryan, get back in your seat," Mrs. Bose snapped.  
Ryan made a point to hunker down, face back to his arms.  
"Ryan."  
"No," he spat childishly. "I'm not fucking gonna go back there. You all think I'm so disgusting, why should you care if I sit over here? Further from you?"  
Mrs. Bose made her way over when she gave paper to the last student, arms still laden with work sheets. "Because over there is your seat, George. Not-."  
"Don't you fucking DARE call me that again! I AM NOT GEORGE!" He pounded a fist to the desk top and leaned over. "I've already told you, you,- you-!" He groaned.  
It took all her strength not to reach forward and slap him hard. "Excuse me?" Her head tipped and pushed forward just a little. "Don't YOU dare talk to me that way. You're name is George. I'll fucking call you George, if I like." He was acting like a total brat.  
Ryan was just about vibrating with the effort to keep himself calm. "I do not like the name George, it isn't mine. My father is George and I am not my father, nor will I ever be like him, Miss. I am Ryan, please respect that."  
She shook her head sadly at him. He was trembling; his hands open on top of the desk with his eyes closed. "You need to get yourself back in line, Ross. I don't know who you think you are, but this is completely unacceptable."  
"I'm really just asking that you call me Ryan, ma'am. Or- even Ross, I don't really give a fuck. Just not George."  
"Stop swearing at me George. You better wa-!"  
Ryan jumped up and knocked the thick stack of paper from her little imp arms and pushed her shoulder back. "You're a real awful bitch, you know that?!"  
She gasped and stepped back on her own. "Don't you ever, EVER put your hands on me." She watched his face and waited to see if she needed to threaten something more than the detention and write up she already decided he needed.  
Ryan looked her up and down a moment, his shoulders sinking. "Oh no, no, no, no," he sighed. "No, no, come on." He stood tall and straitened his jacket. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He shook his head at himself.  
Mrs. Bose was rather confused. Completely nonplussed, just frozen.  
Ryan reached out to take her shoulder. He simply held it, pulling her forward just a bit. "I'm- you're right. I don't know what got into me, miss- ma'am. Never again, I swear, I-." He cut himself off to bend over and pick up the only slightly scattered papers.  
She took a step back at first before squatting down to help Ryan when the contents of a breast pocket on his jacket spilled. It was mostly little scraps of paper, but she could see writing on them.  
Ryan hissed. "Fuck." He sat up only to slam the papers down on the table before he could move to rip a little slip from B out of the bitch's hand. "Don't touch that!" he yelled.  
There were so many and all with the same, neat handwriting on them from what she could tell. Mrs. Bose was a bit concerned; she'd heard all the stories, of course, of the alienated children making plans to do terrible things to themselves and others at their school. She hurriedly reached out to snatch one he hadn't noticed. By the time she had it stuffed in her pocket, all the others were gone. She watched Ryan pick up a very small photograph from under his marred shoe. He was quickly enveloped in a crease, giving her time to study a broken and charred cross necklace lying stiff near a piece of broken glass. It looked like it came from a beer bottle. She tentatively put her hand out for it.  
Ryan fell back to his bottom, eyes still trained on the crease crossing and distorting her face. He reached out, not looking up, to feel around the floor with the tips of his fingers until they found his cross.  
Mrs. Bose looked up from the glass shard to Ryan, who was sniffling profusely. She could lean over to see the picture was of a woman he didn't resemble. It was obvious that the photograph was of his mother, though, because who else could it be?  
Ryan tried bending it back, but he could still tell there was something wrong. He got frantic, frustrated and bent it back and forth again and again.  
"Ryan," she called and reached out an empty hand to try and get him to stop. "Don't do that, you'll make it worse."  
Ryan pulled the picture away and looked to spit in her face. "Don't fucking touch her!"  
"Stop keep bending it, you'll wear it away."  
Ryan held a glare to the bitch while he fumbled around to find the pocket to put it back. "Do you know I've had this picture for six years and with what I've gone through, nothing had ever happened to it? And then you come along and it's destroyed. This is my mother and she's bent along the face."  
"Well, I didn't do it, G-. It was an accident."  
"Whatever, fucking cunt"  
She was only trying to help. "Why was there a big shard of glass from your pocket? This is a weapon."  
Ryan ripped it from her hand. "Not if you're not an idiot it isn't."  
She pulled her hand back and brought it to her mouth to suck on the new cut, the taste of blood tainting her tongue. "You just cut me!"  
"Well, maybe you shouldn't be picking up broken glass, you fucking numbskull! What did you think would happen?!"  
She got up to wash the wound and dress it properly at the sink, it was deeper than she expected. "Get over here, Ryan."  
Ryan groaned and stuffed the glass back where it belonged on his way over. "What?"  
"Why do you have a weapon?"  
"It isn't a weapon unless you use it. It's your own damn fault you got cut."  
"Ryan! Why do you have a shard of glass on you?"  
"Em, I found it in the woods, miss. Um, hunting."  
"Hunting?"  
"Uh, sure. Why not?" he sighed, not trying to hide his great annoyance at all. She seemed to be waiting for more, so he thought quickly. "I just saw it," he said, hoping to cover the unconvincing first answer. He sounded like he thought it should be obvious for her. "What do you want me to do? Step on it twice? And it's not as if there's a fucking trash can I can just leave it in. I forgot it was in there until today, miss."  
"So you just wear that 'hunting"?  
Ryan nodded. "I've only got the one jacket, miss," he said. That was normal.  
"No vest? No safety vest?"  
"No, ma'am."  
"Isn't that dangerous?" He could've said yes. Just yes. She was sure she just caught him in something by his reactions.  
Ryan simply looked her up and down. He was cold and tired and had no answer for her. He looked lethargic, but confused and flustered, still. "Not when you're the only one out there." He should've mulled over all the possibilities of a new story the night before, so he would be ready. But then again, how would he know she would be so damn nosey?  
"Don't you go with your father? What if he makes a mistake? And how can you ever really know it's only you?"  
Ryan set his hand on the corner of the counter, mood changing rapidly, getting more concerned with it. He had been getting rather proud with how quickly he could put up flawless stories for excuses. Not that he had much of a choice or not enough practice after nearly six years. This was the first time he had no answer. The first time he'd used this completely dumb hunting excuse, the first time he'd been caught with a weapon.  
She lifted her eyebrows. She knew he was lying about going to hunt, maybe to seem cooler and more out there than anyone else. She knew he was lying about how he found the glass and why he had it on him. She waited.  
Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out the glass. "Here," he said gruffly, sliding it along the counter top to her, producing a scratching sound. "It's garbage," he said. Ryan turned and went back to his seat, the one he'd picked. Maybe it was just the blow to his head that morning that was setting him off. But, whatever it was, he needed it back under control before he got himself into some real trouble, if he hadn't, already.  
Mrs. Bose could only imagine what the hunting was trying to cover up. She honestly had not even a clue.  
Ryan moved the cross and picture to temporarily reside in another pocket so he could count out the notes. He needed 19.  
Mrs. Bose pulled the little scrap of paper from her pocket, thinking it might clear things up a bit. She only saw 'Brendon Urie,' she was almost sure a student of hers, and a plus between Ryan Ross inside a heart. On the back was the classic heart with an arrow through it surrounded by more little hearts. Under the little group of hearts, some coloured in, said "I love you." in the neat handwriting. She looked up to Ryan with more little notes scattered on his desk. Ryan was definitely not the one she would pick out to be the owner of one of the names.  
Ryan was frantic. He counted 17, then 18 then 18. He counted again, making sure none were stuck together. 18, only 18. This couldn't be happening. He needed 19 and he knew it. The blow that morning wasn't affecting him, he needed 19. 19. Ryan counted more carefully this time. As he went through he checked to see what was written on each one before putting it back in his pocket. He couldn't recite them all, but he could pick out which was missing. The one with his and Brendon's full names on it.  
Mrs. Bose made her way over. She couldn't just hand it to him because he had never come out, not to her. She would respect that, of anything.  
Ryan only looked more frantically when he noticed her coming. She could alert his father easier than anyone else.  
As Mrs. Bose approached, Ryan shot up and looked at the floor. She backed up quickly when he spun to make his jacket flare.  
Ryan looked harder, further away from the spot it would have initially fell. Maybe it fell from a fold in his clothes. He pushed past Mrs. Bose, only concentrated on the floor, now by the vent. He got to his knees and leaned over to look beneath the slight overhang.  
She tried not to gag when he moved her aside by her shoulders to get by and made sure the note was folded back up properly before dropping it by the leg of his table.  
Ryan crawled forward, still with his nose under the vent. He gave one more sweeping span over the floor before he leaned against the vent and brought up his knees to hide any weak emotion that came about. Word was going to get around, maybe- definitely not directly to his father just yet, but around the school. Brendon would be outed without any form of consent. Brendon's non-reclusive mother would find out by way of friend's kids or B's pressured mouth. She would get furious, not of her son's sexual orientation, but of what she would find out they had done with each other. She'd alert his father. Ryan would die. He didn't really want to die.  
"What are you looking for?" she asked when she thought he was crying, knowing he wasn't looking anymore.  
Ryan took his fists and pounded them to the ground over and over and over. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he hissed. He moved to pound his own head instead. "Fucking idiotic."  
"Hey, hey, ok," she said and took his jacket cuff to stop him from hurting himself anymore. "What's your problem?"  
Ryan tightened to as small a ball he could, covering his head.  
"Ryan?"  
Ryan looked side to side before relaxing. His flinching was going to get him into some trouble sooner or later.  
"What are you looking for?"  
Ryan hid his face to his knees again, every piece of him limp. "A stupid piece a paper," he moaned. He didn't cry, he never cried. But a death sentence really knew how to pull it out of him. He sucked in a shaky breath. "I'm gonna... My father, he'll-. Oh, dear god, he'll kill me. He'll. I'm gonna die. Fuck it, I don't-. Shit, he's-." He stopped himself.  
That was a little concerning to pair with the bruise and limp, but Mrs. Bose was sure he just didn't want to come out yet. "Is it-. Ryan? Is that it?" She wouldn't have taken it if she had known he would have noticed its absence. She would have just told someone authorized to check things out of her suspicion. But at least now she could relax and believe all the others were the same.  
Ryan looked up to her and followed her arm and extended finger to a small scrap of paper. How could he have missed that, sitting right there? Hopefully it didn't just fall from his pocket a second time.  
She could see tear tracks cutting grime down his cheek. Mrs. Bose took a step back and watched him push a long arm forward and pull back with the note.  
Ryan unfolded it carefully, not letting himself get his hopes up, and pressed the back to his palm. A huge smile of relief spread slowly on his lips while he folded their names up and carefully put them back into his pocket. "Oh, jeez," he sighed, pulling the pocket open to watch it sink securely. "Oh, my god." Though the smile with what caused it faded quickly. He snapped his head back up. "Did you see what it said?" he asked while he wiped the wet from his cheeks with a shredded hoody cuff, smearing more dirt and, ultimately, feces to replace what the tears had taken.  
"No, I just saw it on the ground and pointed you to it. I never read it."  
Ryan used the vent, sliding up it, to help him get up with a dangerous look on his face while he balled his fists tight. "Just tell me, miss. Please, I need to know if you saw what it said."  
She took a step back from his growling as he kept getting closer. "No, Ryan. I didn't see."  
"I won't care," he promised. "I won't do anything to you, I just need to know."  
"I didn't see what it said. Now take a seat and do your work."  
~~~  
Ryan put the end of his pen in his mouth while he thought of what to put next for his research paper in English. It was the seventh period on only his second day of school, a Thursday. He had just had lunch and was having trouble getting food out of his mind. He tried to focus on his report while he adjusted the hoody on his irritated-from-dirt-and-grease neck. The bruise was still huge and still difficult to hide; he knew when he caught a girl looking at it. But he was getting rather apathetic as compared to the previous days hyper awareness. He didn't really care anymore; he could always just lie and make up a new story again. Not that anyone ever would really care what happened to him anyway. The repulsive, unclean, and disgustingly rude 17 year old sophomore. He was just flattering himself when he was really worried, and he didn't want to be one to go and flatter himself.  
He looked up with very mild interest when Mrs. Lustig answered the ringing phone on the wall. Just one of the many calls teachers got so often in the beginning of the year.  
Mrs. Lustig hung up the phone and went to her desk to write up the pass. "George, is that 'Ross' with one 's' or two?"  
Just correcting her roll sheet. It was incorrect the day before. "Two, miss."  
"And you prefer Ryan, right?"  
"Yes, ma'am."  
"Ok," she muttered under her breath as she scribbled something down on the small white slip, the hall pass. Her and a few of Ryan's other teachers had all taken note of the ridiculous, completely uncalled for flinching, the huge bruise on his neck, the limp, and, as of the day, a cut under his eye and- what she thought was- suspicious pulling of his ratty hoody off his front, maybe irritating an unseen wound. She was relieved he was getting called down just a day after their report was sent in, in the very busy beginning of a new year. Though maybe it should have been the day of, a claim like this should be top priority. He was just a kid, sophomore year and he was still a kid. Not that being an adult in his situation was any better.  
The pass caught another glance of the English teacher's, who was incredibly hopeful for the young boy. She came up quietly in her sneakers and set the pass down in front of him.  
Ryan flinched. But of course it wasn't a regular flinch. His arms flew to cover the back of his head while he ducked down so quickly he hit his forehead on the table. But it didn't stop him from putting his head under it and balling tighter.  
Mrs. Lustig sighed sadly while Ryan continued to quiver, with arms that seemed to keep wrapping tighter until his hands were on opposite sides shoulders and trying to get further. The other kids laughed, especially his table-mate, Ben. She set a hand cautiously on his back, making him wince and start shaking harder. He found hair when he could and tugged it so hard, she was sure it was ripping.  
"Everybody be quiet!" she called in her helplessly nice voice. "It isn't funny, guys!"  
She kneeled down next to his side and found his leg to rub in a way she hoped was reassuring and not invasive. He quickly pulled it away and let out a whine and whimpered while she hushed him as quietly as she could.  
If only she hadn't touched his back, he would've been fine, would have been able to calm himself down in another moment or two. But the touch freaked him out, then the second and then he wasn't sure what was going on or what to do with himself. He took in some deep breaths, telling himself he was fine. She wasn't doing anything to him, only trying to get him to stop being such a freak in the middle of her class. He lifted his head slowly and looked all around himself, his sides and behind himself, and even a surreptitious check under the table, ignoring the revived laughter. His table had cleared to get a better view for their entertainment.  
"Stop it!" she called. "Not funny, stop."  
His chair tipped and dropped him when Ryan jumped in reaction to Ben's thinking he was funny by swinging at him. The class laughed some more while his fists balled, increasing the urge to wring every single one of their necks. He growled dangerously and shoved his hands in his pockets after he got to standing again, with help from the teacher, in order to stop himself from lashing out.  
"Do not do that!" she shouted at the boy and to the rest of the class slinking around to get behind the frightened one. Maybe she shouldn't have yelled it, for he jumped back and looked tensed. He was a cornered animal and they were all teasing him. With the anger he had shown previously, even in the short amount of time she'd known him, she wouldn't be surprised if he decided he needed to try and attack one of them for his own safety.  
Everyone kept on laughing, even after she told them to stop, so she waved her hand with the pass back in it. "Come on, let's go into the hall."  
Ryan sent a sweeping scowl to everyone, trying to scare them enough to stop messing with him before he couldn't hold himself back anymore.  
Mrs. Lustig handed him the pass once the door was completely shut. "Go to Mrs. Unecht, ok? The guidance counsellor."  
Ryan nodded, feeling worried. He had no idea how he was going to pull this one off. He was playing? Making fun of them by getting them to make fun of him? He did his best to look confused, not sure why he was being sent.  
Mrs. Unecht nodded to him from behind her desk. "How are you Ryan?"  
Ryan had been there plenty of times the year before. A couple times for the cuts on his arm, then twice when the teachers thought he wasn't eating enough. He knew she didn't care how he was. She was only doing the bare minimum of her job requirements. He had managed to talk her out of requiring him to go to therapy before he could return back to school for the cases of cutting. She didn't even call his 'extremely busy father who was going through a tough time around and his deceased wife's birthday/ wedding or death anniversary.' It wasn't hard to convince her to let him tell his father himself, he assumed because she didn't really feel like making the call in the first place. And with the cases involving his eating disorder he never actually confessed to, he got her to drop it before they could even make it to the nurse's for a weigh in or private exam of his body because he was just too shy and uncomfortable having anyone look at him. She didn't care how he was doing.  
"Fine, ma'am. And you?" he returned while he took his usual seat she nodded to.  
"So, Ryan, do you know why you're here, sweetheart?"  
She sounded sweet, and he had no idea why. Why put in any effort at all if she was already sliding by with what little she was actually doing? She sounded overly sweet, maybe she was mocking. It certainly got on his nerves.  
"Not at all, miss," he answered politely. It wouldn't last long, they both knew. He would end up snapping and sliding while she kept calling him sweetheart and honey. Just getting him more frustrated. He was already struggling to stop his eyes from rolling around while she gave him a 'sad' smile.  
"Well," she started. "A lot of teachers have reported some dramatic flinching. Do you know what that's about?"  
"No," he sighed, letting some lip into his words so soon.  
"Ok. Well, they say you cower down, like to avoid getting hit, honey. You hold down your head? And I've heard of a pretty big contusion on your neck and oh-. There it is. May I see?"  
Ryan sighed, clearly bothered, and looked to the side while he pulled the stretched out collar in a spot that would show her most of the bruise without letting her see what others might think as an emaciated collar bone or shoulder, hoping the neck wasn't already too much.  
"Ow," she sighed in a pretty, little voice. Ryan gritted his teeth and stopped the display.  
"So, Ryan, are we having problems at home?"  
Ryan had been cursing her out in his head since even Mrs. Lustig had said her name. "No, not at all. Why? What do you mean?"  
"Well, right now, it seems to us that maybe somebody at home, or maybe even in school, is physically abusing you."  
"Nope."  
Mrs. Unecht gave him another of her sad, sympathetic, mocking smiles while she inclined her head to whatever he said. "You can tell me," she promised. "It will remain completely confidential. I won't tell anybody who told me that you get abused. I can get child protective services to come and help you out. You can go to live with a family member who loves you and will support you. Ok?"  
"My dad loves me," Ryan spat.  
"So it's your dad who hits you?"  
Ryan's mouth fell agape, but only for a moment. "Nobody hits me!" he yelled, getting frustrated. He sat up and held onto the arm rests of the chair, squeezing them tight. "I only said 'My dad' because he's the only one who lives with me! Nobody fucking hits me!"  
She kept smiling. "Watch your mouth, ok? But, before we need to go to the nurses, do you want to try and explain to me the flinching?"  
Ryan sat back again and shrugged. "Not really. I mean, some people don't flinch at anything. Some people flinch a lot, that's me. Everybody's different."  
"Yes, but people have been saying that you hide under your arms and shake like a dog."  
"Hey, like I've said. That's just what I do."  
Mrs. Unecht sighed sadly, as if she were actually slightly bothered by any of it. But, Ryan knew she wouldn't be able to care less if he were set on fire then shot in the head by his abusive father. So long as she got her check.  
"How about your neck then, sweetie? Can you tell me who made that?"  
Ryan groaned and let his hands find his clump of hair to pull at. "Nobody! Nobody hit me! Fine," he sighed, sitting back, relaxed again. He spoke calmly, now. "My friend Spencer did it. Because he was pitching, we were playing baseball. I was batting and I missed a couple times." A slight variation of the story he always used.  
"Baseball?" she confirmed. "Can you explain how a ball this big," she held out her hands, "gave you a bruise that large?"  
"It hit me a bunch," he said with a smile, playing along. He shrugged and shifted in her chair, hoping to leave as much stink as possible. "Um, I'm clearly not very good. And we were playing around, you know, so he just kept throwing it. That's all."  
"Who were the boys again?"  
"Just from my neighbourhood."  
"How did you get the scrape under your eye?"  
Ryan sighed, not sure how much longer he could stay calm like this. "My nail," he said. It was his father's, dragging him to the corner. "I just went to, I don't know, do something, this morning and I scratched myself."  
"Ok," she sighed with finality. "We need to go to the nurses for a bit, alright?"  
Ryan nodded and stood, pushing off the table. She didn't ask about his limp the whole way there. At least he sort of liked the nurses. He didn't really like anybody, but he didn't hate the nurses. They were sweet and gave him a lollipop a couple times. He really liked lollipops, especially on those days he knew he should've had something, like a cracker, at lunch or kept at least a little down on Sunday. Their names were Mrs. Nett, the main nurse, and Miss. Lieb, her partner, he would say.  
Miss. Lieb, more like reception when she wasn't needed, smiled nervously from her front desk. Whenever it was Mrs. Unecht with Ryan, something was wrong. "Uh-oh. What's the matter?"  
Mrs. Unecht gave a rather careless sweep of what she could see of the next room, looking for other kids who shouldn't hear. "Maybe some physical abuse at home."  
Ryan gritted his teeth and gave a certain look to Miss. Lieb, hoping to convince her before he even needed to speak. She smiled back at him. The nurses, they made him happy. The way they always smiled and laughed, it was nice to be around, sometimes. They could always put him in a better mood.  
"So," she sighed. 'You know, we just need that little scrape under his eye cleaned, I think, and then we need him to be checked. You or Mrs. Nett can take him in the back room and, you know."  
She nodded and stood to lead them to the second room of three in the Nurses' Office. The first had a desk with a row of chairs facing it against the wall. It always had some scented candle Mrs. Lieb let him smell occasionally, she liked sweet smelling things. The second room had a sink, cabinets he assumed were filled with bandages and soap and things like that, a round table with its chairs, three vinyl lined beds, and lots of posters of teeth and food charts and one saying the importance of washing hands. The third room was simplest. It had a desk, a couple chairs on the wall to face it, one bed like the other three, and a scale. No posters and no scented candles or anything personal.  
Ryan was taken to the second room and sat at the table. He flinched away lightly when Mrs. Nett reached out to wash the cut, he knew what was coming and quickly let her have his chin to hold. He winced while she pulled a clot of blood off and pressed the cold, wet napkin to the sensitive skin it tore from. That was over quickly.  
Mrs. Nett smiled. She liked Ryan; he was a nice young boy. A little troubled, but very sweet for it. He smiled back at her. "Ok," she started. "Now, I'm sorry, bud, but I have to take you right in there so I can have you, you know, take your shirt off. Ok?"  
Ryan sunk back and shook his head minutely. "Uh-uh."  
Her smile shrunk a little and got sadder. "Come on, let's at least go in there, ok?"  
Ryan didn't want to not comply at all, it might be suspicious. He would play it off like he had before. He was too shy to take his top off. He wasn't comfortable with anyone looking at any part of him, except his face, unclothed.  
Mrs. Nett leaned up against the desk while Ryan sat in a chair. "I'm not going to touch anything, I promise," she started. "I just need you to take your jacket off and your sweat shirt so I can see if you have any other scrapes or bruises. Ok?"  
Ryan shook his head. He didn't like to be bad for them, the nurses. But he couldn't do it. He wouldn't. Not only was he covered in scars, some deep still, but in fresh wounds. He had two on his front and three or four gouged into his back. He might as well have been one big bruise once he looked under his clothing. And he was entirely too skinny for her taste. "No, I can't," he said quietly, though he was pretty sure no one on the other side would be hearing anything past the thick, heavy, wooden door. "I-. Miss, I won't take my clothes off. I promise you, I swear on my mother's grave and my father's life, my life, I swear to God, there is nothing there. I don't cut myself anymore, I'm not anorexic, and I'm not being abused."  
She sighed and looked to the floor. "Honey, I want to believe you, ok? But I can't. Personally," she said, moving her hands to her chest, "I have no idea whether you are or not. But, as the nurse, I have to believe you are until you can prove to me that you're not. And you can do that by showing me a healthy, un-scraped, un-bruised, well fed back. Ok?"  
Ryan shook his head and shrank for the sake of his life, basically. "No, I can't. I can't take my clothes off. I want to prove to you, I know I can, but I don't feel comfortable. Really, miss, I'm sorry."  
"Ryan, you're making a big deal out of nothing. Either you can just lift your shirt a little so I can see your tummy, or we can send the CPS to your house and find out that you are getting hurt. Would you rather emergency services be wasted on you for however long it takes to see that you're ok, or would you rather let me see that you're ok that will take two seconds?"  
"Miss, I can't."  
"Ryan, this is very suspicious to me. I feel like you're trying to hide something."  
"No, you just don't understand. You really don't get it."  
"Can you show Mrs. Unecht?" she asked, trying to get something. She really wanted him to be ok. He shook his head, faster and more nervous looking than he did with her. "Are you sure, Ryan? Just show one of us just a little bit so we can send you back to class and you can go home. What about Miss. Lieb? Any of your teachers?"  
Ryan kept shaking his head, hands wringing his sleeves nervously. Honestly, nervously. "No, miss, please," he started to beg, his throat getting tight and voice growing thick. "Please, I can't do it. I-. I can't just take my shirt off like that, I don't feel comfortable. Please, just tell her that you saw and say that everything was fine. Please, miss. Don't make me do it, I can't do it, don't make me." He could feel a desperate scream rising to his neck. "Please." Finally, a tear fell down his cheek. He was about to lose his father. Once they forced the top off of him, ripped it up after he refused to cooperate, or just assumed he was lying, they would send CPS to his house. He was going to be taken away and put in a home of all new people he'd never known before, somewhere far so he couldn't see Brendon. His dad was going to be put in jail and he'd never get to see him again. "Please, miss. Please believe me. Please."  
She tried to hush him, but he just kept begging. "It's ok," she promised. "It's ok, Ryan. Sweetheart, I won't make you do anything you don't want to. I- I understand, ok? But I can't just let you go, you need to show somebody." He cried harder and kept the begging under her louder voice, going faster. She had approached him by then and was holding his shoulder with one hand while he squeezed her arm tighter and tighter, bringing it in closer. "Is there anybody in this whole entire school, honey, that you can take your shirt off for, for even just a second, just one second to show that you're ok so we can send you back?"  
Ryan shook his head and sobbed to her shoulder he was drawing closer. "No, no. Please, don't make me do it."  
She took the seat next to him, almost being forced to. "Not even a student?"  
Ryan started shaking his head, but stopped. "Brendon Urie," he said.  
"And he's in class, today?"  
Ryan let go and nodded. "Yes, miss."  
~~~  
Brendon closed the door after himself and smiled sadly at Ryan looking defeated while he slouched in his chair. "Are you ok?" Brendon, himself, was excited.  
Ryan shrugged. "Did you close the door?" he asked quietly and got a quiet little, "Yeah," as response along with a hand on his leg. "B, let's just give it a minute, then you can tell them all everything is ok."  
Brendon put his arm around Ryan, hoping to get into a good spot, somewhere where Ryan would have trouble hitting him. "No," he said.  
Ryan picked his head up and looked to B. "Two? Because you have to convince me to take my shirt off, first?"  
Brendon shook his head. "We can wait as long as you like, I'm going to tell them he hurts you."  
Ryan looked Brendon up and down. "What?"  
Brendon carefully reached out and wiped at the clean tracks with his thumb. "Babe, you're caught."  
"No, I'm not. Not if you fucking go out there and tell them right now that I took my shirt off and I didn't have any bruises or cuts and I looked well fed."  
"I'm not gonna do that," he said quietly, voice getting higher as tears threatened his own eyes.  
Ryan shot up and spun to get down and force Brendon back, pinning him up against the back of his chair and the wall with arms down on either side of him to block his way if he were to decide to try and slip away. "You are going to go out there right fucking now and tell everyone who wants to hear that I took my shirt off for you and you saw nothing special. You got it? Got it?!"  
Brendon's head was forced to the side, so he looked at his hip. He didn't have much purchase, nothing to push off of to stand with Ryan's arms where they were. He hooked his legs tighter to the seat and forced himself forward and up, knocking Ryan back into the desk. "No, Ryan," he spat. "They've caught you, now. They've finally caught you. I'm gonna go out there and tell them everything, do you got it? I'm gonna tell them he hurts you, starves you, forces you to live without any way to bathe, and that he makes you sleep in a room filled with rats and flies and their maggots. You're gonna finally get help, Ryan. Don't you want that?"  
Ryan was crying again. "No, Brendon," he blubbered. "Please, B. I don't want that."  
"Why not?"  
Ryan sniffled and shrugged before he tried to work some fingernails through his matt of hair to scratch behind his ear. His hair was beginning to push his ear out more than the other. "Because," he whined, leaning back against the desk. "Then they'll take me away and-. B I don't wanna get taken away. Please, don't do this, babe. I love you, please. I don't wanna ever lose you."  
"Yeah, I love you, too. That's why I'm gonna do this. He won't hurt you anymore."  
"They'll take me away to some special home. I'll never see you again."  
Brendon wiped his eyes with his soft, long, grey shirt sleeves. "Maybe they can give you some help for your anorexia there. And your cutting. And, baby, just think. You'll be so much happier; they can put you in a foster home or something. Somewhere with a warm bed and clean sheets and showers. You won't have to see another damned rat ever again. They'll give you food and water every day and they'll never lock you in a closet. Ryan, it's gonna be better."  
"That's not what I want," he said again, getting frantic which brought up panicked violence and anger. "Brendon, please don't say anything. You don't know what they'll be like. What if I end up in the same situation? Or even similar. That could happen, it probably will. Don't you always see on TV those stories. Aren't they all like that? And they'll take away my dad. He'll go to jail and I'll never see him again. I need my dad, B. No matter what he does to me, I love him. Come on, love. I've already lost my mom, don't let them take him away, too. I can't do that."  
Brendon wiped his eyes more urgently. His hands were trembling. "Ryan, it'll be ok."  
"It's not gonna be fucking ok, Brendon! Do you hear me? Can you hear what I'm saying, you fucking eejit?" He took invasive steps forward, forcing Brendon back, eventually up to the door and the corner where he hooked down to roar in his face. "It's not going to be ok! It's not! He's all I've got, you know! You and him, and if you do this I'll lose you both. I'm fucking 17, I will get out on my own after high school, when I can figure out how to still take care of him. Now, you ARE going to go out there and tell them I'm fine. Do. You. Understand. Me?" he kept shouting.  
Brendon shook his head. "Babe, your caught. Just let them help you."  
"Nobody can help me but you! Not if you don't go out there exactly when and how I say and say what I tell you. I will fucking take you down. I will get that knife you think he abuses me with and I will stab it through your throat and watch you drown on your own blood. I will leave you to fucking rot in the damned woods and if you think this is an empty threat just to scare you, you're dead wrong. I will kill you."  
Brendon was positive it was not empty. He nodded and sniffled. "Ok, ok. Just let me compose myself. Ok?"  
Ryan stood up and straightened his jacket, letting Brendon go. "Quickly. We're already taking too long."  
Mrs. Nett pulled her hand back off the door handle. She turned to Mrs. Unecht and took a few steps away from the door for when they would come back. "You heard that all, right?" She got a nod. "So whatever he says, you're gonna make the calls and make sure everything is done to get him out, aren't you?"  
Mrs. Unecht nodded. "As soon as I get back to my office."  
"Good, right. Don't tell him, just do it."  
Brendon wiped his eyes dry and used his phone camera to make sure his eyes didn't look red or anything. "I can tell you've been crying," he warned.  
Ryan furrowed his eyebrows. "How? Are my eyes red?"  
"No," Brendon sighed, sounding annoyed. "You haven't showered in six years so when you cry you get clean tracks on your cheeks." Ryan only rolled his eyes while Brendon held up the camera for him so he could get some of the dirt from his sleeves to cover his cheeks.  
"Good?" he asked, pulling back.  
B nodded and heaved a heavy, bothered sigh. "Give me a hug, ok?"  
"Nothing?" Mrs. Unecht asked when Brendon came out only shaking his head.  
He shook it again. "No, nothing. He's fine, really."  
Mrs. Nett took note of Ryan's hard glare towards Brendon. He was even frightening her. Maybe this would need more thought than just calling right away. But she was sure Ryan had only said what he did to get Brendon to comply.  
Mrs. Unecht nodded. "Ok, that's good. Why don't you two come back to my office so I can write out a pass for you, and talk to you Ryan, a bit more."  
Brendon hung back, with Ryan, behind Mrs. Unecht while they walked so he could link their pinkies together in the otherwise empty hallway. He wasn't in the office for long, only waiting for a pass. He didn't know why the nurse couldn't do it, but was glad for the extra time he could stay by Ryan's side and make sure he was ok. He left with a goodbye as a lingering look on the way out.  
Ryan took his seat again, not sure what they had left to talk about.  
Mrs. Unecht smiled at him, hands folded together in front of her chest, on the table. "Brendon says he saw nothing."  
Ryan inclined his head to agree. "Right."  
Mrs. Unecht decided just to go against what Mrs. Nett advised. Mrs. Nett was not the guidance counsellor, she was. "So, did you make him say what you wanted?"  
Ryan shook his head. He was calm again, relaxed. He felt secure again. It was over; she just had what was left to do to be technically completing her job. Nothing was going to happen. "No."  
"I think you did."  
He shook his head again. He was lounging, leaning back to the corner of the chair with his hands folded over his stomach. "Nope."  
"I'm not convinced," she said. She just liked to toy with him. She wasn't going to do anything. She liked to piss him off, scare him. He was so rude to her. And so needy. Coming down so many times for two different problems, making her job more difficult than it needed to be.  
Ryan sighed, exhausted, and rolled his eyes. "Brendon saw me with my shirt off. If I were abused, I would have more than one bruise, one cut. I would be covered underneath my sweater. And I'm not. I'm perfectly ok."  
"Ryan, I don't know. Are you sure you didn't intimidate him to get him to say that?"  
"Look, he doesn't abuse me. Not physically, verbally, mentally- sexually. In no way does he abuse me. My father loves me. I was playing baseball and the boy pitching was messing around, we all were. Then I caught myself on my nail. That's all it was. That's all it ever will be." He spoke slowly, calmly. He wasn't scared, just mildly annoyed with having to sit there longer. He knew she was messing with him. And he knew it would only take two seconds to convince her he was fine, because she didn't really care either way.  
Now she just had to finish with some seemingly real concern and she could send him off. "Can you look me in the eyes, sweetheart, and absolutely promise me there is nothing wrong at home- or at school- and absolutely nothing anybody can do to help the situation?"  
"I promise."  
"Ok, honey. I think you've got me. Just remember, you can come down anytime, just ask your teacher, and talk about anything you need. I'll always be here to help, ok?"  
"Yeah, got it, thank you," he uttered curtly and took the pass; he needed to get his damn research paper done.  
Ryan actually smiled a little to himself on his way back to class. He was going to be beat down the second he got home, get more bruises from fists, lacerations from glass and the knife, but at least he was going back home. And his dad wasn't going to jail. He only had about two more years until he was free and his father got to remain that way.  
Ryan opened the English room door and saw Mrs. Lustig lecturing the class. He flashed her his pass on his way to his seat.  
Mrs. Lustig smiled. "Oh, are you going home?" She was happy knowing he wasn't going home. Not back to the abuse. That had to be a pass letting him leave school, to get help and make sure he never saw his house or abuser again.  
Ryan shook his head while he sat. "No, ma'am."  
Her face fell, but was immediately replaced with a look of anger and confusion all the kids but Ryan laughed at. She heard Ben laugh and say, "Even she hates him" and a bunch of other students agreed.  
Ryan smiled tauntingly. "Nope. I'm not going anywhere, staying right here until I can go home to my dad. Nothing was wrong. It was a mistake, miss."  
"I need to speak to you in the hallway," she muttered.  
Ryan groaned as he got up again. Just the bruised skin over his ribs was starting to ache from all the activity. All she was going to do was try to get him to go back down and confess, but she was wasting her time. He didn't even know why she cared so much.  
Mrs. Lustig couldn't stand Mrs. Unecht, she was such a phony. She could guess what had happened. Ryan could've lifted his shirt and revealed a rife of scars and new wounds alike, all under bruises. He could've begged to her and she would put it at the end of her to-do list, because it wasn't very important. Or he could've been obvious then tell her she was wrong, and she would believe him. She knew how this went.  
"What happened?" she asked. Maybe they could get her fired and replaced with someone both competent and willing. "Are you ok? Shouldn't you be leaving?"  
"No, ma'am. I am not abused by my father at all. I am going home today and I'll see you again tomorrow."  
She shook her head almost angrily at him.  
Ryan shrugged smugly back and gave her a face that said, "what are you gonna do?" "I'm not abused," he said. "I promise you I'm not."  
"Will you tell me what happened?"  
Since it was confidential, Ryan knew he didn't need to tell. But he didn't mind. He was feeling overly confident. He had already just gotten Brendon to promise the nurse and the guidance counsellor that he was ok, what harm could he do, now? "Um," he started and straightened his thumb to start ticking things off. He looked up, as if trying to recall the lie he couldn't remember. "Well, first, the flinching, I said to her that I'm just a little different. You don't flinch and I do. Then, uh, the bruise I believe I said I was playing baseball. I told her the kid was just messing around, hitting me again, and again, and again, and again," he said, looking right into her eyes and bobbing his head with it. ". And this cut right here, I just caught myself on my nail."  
"You're sick," she spat. "I care. I want to help you out, and you do this."  
"You care? No, fuck that. No you don't. You don't care, you don't want to be caught as one of the kid's teacher who had noticed a limp, a bruise, a cut, the no showering- all of it and didn't say a thing when he truly gets caught, when he's killed. You don't want to be the one they can tell knew about it when they find him dead on the floor from a crushed skull or maybe he bled out or finally starved to death. You do not care, I know that you don't, you're just making more effort to not get yourself in trouble when everything surfaces, than the others are."  
"So he hits you and he cuts you and he doesn't feed you? You don't even get fed?"  
Ryan rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Keep up the act, this is good. Now you can at least say you tried. But stop with the whiny fucking voice, acting as if this affects you. Because it doesn't. And no, he does feed me."  
"What? Once a week?"  
Ryan took in a deep breath and moved a hand to rub his forehead, trying to keep from strangling her.  
"You look thin. I- I have food. Do you want me to give you some food? You can eat it out here, not in front of everyone else. I can start bringing extra food for you every day, ok? Until you're ok, until you're in a better home."  
"Look, there is no better home," he spat and looked down on her. "I- alright you've basically caught me by now, anyway; I'm being too cocky for my own good. I think I might as well have just confessed. I live with my father. My controlling father. Now am I supposed to be getting help for myself? Is that allowed? No, of course not. So the punishment for that, if I were to let some CPS worker into the house, would be, most likely, for the both of us to be shot with his gun. Now, I've never been shot before, personally, but I hear it fucking sucks. He would try to kill me, he'd go for my head, and, knowing him, he wouldn't miss. Not saying he's a great shot drunk, but he would certainly try again. So with that, from 11 and not wanting to lose him, too, to 17 and being the only one to look after him, the father I still love very dearly, and not wanting to die, myself, I am in a tough little spot.  
"So, my plan- don't fuck with it- is to finish high school and try and find some special fucking place who will look after him. Who maybe will even try and help him with his alcoholism. But somewhere I can trust to leave my dad. Now, I'll even let you know I have a boyfriend, or, well a very good friend, but don't tell anyone else because he'll kill me. But anyway, yes, there is someone who loves me past my smell and behaviour, granted I've known him my whole life, before this all broke out and I plan to go find somewhere, anywhere to live together after I've passed my father onto someone else. Now please don't fuck with that. You got me? There is no better place, not right now."  
She listened quietly, patiently waiting her turn. "You're only a sophomore, he could find out about your boyfriend or the CPS could come before you ever graduate."  
He shrugged with opened his arms. "That's not what I'm hoping for. Now, I'm not out and neither is my boyfriend, so I think if we keep it between us three, he won't be pressured to come out to his mother or anything like that. Because if he comes out to his mother, his mother could be angry that we fucked in her house. And if she finds that out, I'm worried she'll tell my father of my behaviour. So there, see, don't tell anyone. Why would you? You don't fucking care. Anyway. Don't fucking tell anybody what I just told you. Is that clear? Don't be the hero, the one to call up the CPS, tell them I'm in danger. That will help no one. That won't help me, that’ll kill me." he explained, splaying his fingers. “What I'm trying to say is that I've got this under control. I will not lose my life to him, I'd rather, and I will, go either by myself or some deadly illness that springs about from having not had, what? I think now it's eight showers in the last five or six years. And I've got a plan; I've had six years to think of one. So don't fuck with it. That's really all I'm asking here. It won't be hard. And, hey, look, now you can be the hero that went along with it and didn't get the boy killed."  
"Would you stop? I'm not trying to be some hero. Some people just care, ok? But what if I can get CPS out there, I'll call an-."  
"What the fuck did I just say?"  
"Stop. I will call myself and I will tell them that they need to bring some special help. I'll tell them a child is in danger that needs to be rescued, but that his father is more than willing to shoot him. They'll know what to do, I'm sure this isn't the first case. They can arrest him, have his arms tied before he even knows what's going on and then they can take you away."  
Ryan's heart began to pound. "No," he said simply before going on. "No, no, no. Do not do that. If you do that, I, I will come back from wherever the FUCK they decide is better, and I will personally shoot you. You think that's crazy? I'm crazy. I'm sure by now I am. That is not an empty threat, that is a promise. I will fucking shoot you. You have children, don't you? And a husband? I'll fucking do it in front of them all then hand him a drink. See what happens then. Don't fucking do it. It's simple."  
She was a little taken aback by how sick that was. "Ryan," she gasped quietly. "That's-" But of course she didn't believe him.  
"Yeah, this shit can mess a kid up. I know that. And I'll do it. Maybe we can start a chain, yeah? See how your children get the fuck outta there."  
She shook her head to rid herself of any thought about it. "I-. Just-." She heaved a sigh. "Ryan, they'll know how to do this. How to get you out safely. They'll make sure you don't die by him and make sure you get the help you need for your thoughts and any medical care you need, any showers you want."  
"No," he said again. "I said no. I don't fucking know why, after six years, just one before I can say it's my choice to live with him, before I'm not a child anymore, my teachers notice. Nobody else has cared before. I fucking have come in with a scratch on my face, a black eye, multiple limps. But I suppose you could blame it on being a boy. Now, do I need to repeat myself? I WILL kill you. I don't fucking care if they find out it's me, hell I'll turn myself in as soon as I'm done."  
"Ryan, I've just told you they'll make sure you get out alive. Why are you still resisting?"  
He scrubbed his face. "Because," he moaned. "I love my father. I've got two people, right now. I've got him and I've got my, my special friend ok? My boyfriend is all fucking for ratting me the fuck out. He nearly did while I was down there at the nurses He knows how much I love my father, how much I need him. He knows I'll get out alive, armed CPS workers or not. He knows I'm ok. He doesn't like it; of course he doesn't fucking like it. He does love me. He's come pretty damn close to looking up the number himself, many times. He threatens me with it. And he knows it's a threat. He is threatening me when he offers to call the CPS, the guidance counsellor, the police, the teachers, his mother to do it for him. He's scared for me, but he knows he's threatening me. Not necessarily for my life. I love my dad. He's my dad! I don't want my father in jail. Then I won't have him anymore. I won't see him again. I'm very attached to him. Now, I'm also attached to my boyfriend. I love him. I love him more than anyone else in the whole world, he's perfect. Absolutely perfect, I hear you like him, too. But I don't know where that foster home is, where they send their kids to school at. So, by calling CPS, I lose my father and my boyfriend. One and two, two people I love in this world, two people I care about, and yes, two people who ultimately care about me. You call CPS and you are tearing me away from them both. I want at least one. I can safely have just one if you let me finish high school here."  
"Ryan, if I call CPS you will get out of that situation."  
"And I'll kill myself without them both."  
"But-. No, Ryan. Don't. If you get the help you need, I mean put somewhere you like. Somewhere that's gonna have a nice warm bed for you to sleep in-."  
"Oh, then what? You gotta get adopted to get out of there, don't you? Who's gonna want me? Nobody wants me. So you're here gonna make me spend a year by myself just so I can get kicked out to live where? On the streets, you asshole. At least I've got a roof over my head, right now."  
"They won't just kick you out. They'll help you."  
Ryan shook his head. "Look, I get that you want to help. Let's say you do care. You just don't understand," he said softly. "You think this will help, but it won't." He cursed himself, his voice was getting thick, though maybe it would help win her over. "You do not understand. This will help nobody. How many times have I said it? I've got two people I love. My father and my boyfriend. And what if he moves? His mother doesn't like it there. And it's not like I have his number. So," he trailed off and sighed. "I've got this. Just as long as no one fucks up."  
"How about I go contact the CPS right now? Really, you-."  
Ryan shoved her hand off him so hard she was a little unbalanced. "No, you will not. Look, I can make it easy for you. I'll threaten to kill you. Now you can be the one who didn't do anything for good reason. Because who would expect her to risk her own life when she has a family and for some dumb, ungrateful little brat who didn't even want the help in the first place. Now don't get this wrong, this threat to kill you is not empty, it isn't so you can use it as an excuse, I'm no longer trying to convince you by scaring you. I will kill you," he growled while he got into her face, pushing her back until she was squished against the wall. He cocked his head side to side, all while staring into her deep, blue eyes. "You can call me a crazy, a psychopath, I don't care. Maybe you'd even be right. But don't you worry, alright? I will escape the foster home if it's fucking in China and I will come back here and I will kill you. I will find you, no matter how long or how hard, I will catch you. And I'm gonna take that knife he uses on me and those beer bottles as they lay in my home and I will cut you, I will stab you in the chest so I can watch you die as slowly as possible while I continue to smash that bottle over your head until it shatters. And all while your husband and children watch, I'll make them. You have three sons, don't you? How about I kill only one to go with you? Huh? And then I'll hand their father a drink to encourage all the love, the respect, the positive development of responsibilities, and self control that all come with having an 'abusive' father. All that comes from the pain, the hurt, the desertion, left utterly alone. All that you don't seem to approve of. Now don't you doubt me. Don't you tell yourself, 'Oh, he's just crazy. He's just making this up so I won't tell. He won't really do anything, he's crazy.' He is not crazy!" he roared. "He is not crazy! He will kill you and he'll love it! And you can wait till he's nice and fucking fat from the fosters. He'll wait till he's strong enough, you hear? The only reason his boyfriend, his two friends, aren't in the ground yet are because they're all stronger than him. They're strong enough to push him back, to get the knife from his hands before it meets their chests, to pull his fingers from 'round their necks, to lift their faces from the water. But I'll make sure he's nice and strong before he comes after you. I'll make sure he finds you. You may think he's taking awhile. Maybe he's forgotten by now, huh? Oh, yeah, he's forgotten by now. But, then, maybe he's grateful. He's realized what you've done for him. But I can assure that isn't the truth. He'll remember. He won't let the fosters find out he's crazy," Ryan whispered, letting his words linger a little longer. "Not so they'll lock him up tight. He'll act normal until he's been tried for your and one of your son's murder. Ok? Do you understand?" He tipped his head to push the bridges of their noses together, pushing his head tight against hers, forcing it to the wall and crushing her nose. "Do you understand me? Huh?"  
She tried to pull away when he was squashing her nose, but she couldn't. She matched up and pushed him back to stumbling.  
Ryan shook his head out and straightened his jacket before asking normally, "Ok?" He sounded calm, professional. "Was I clear enough for you?" He wasn't mocking. "Just, you know, as long as nobody fucks up I'll be ok. And don't worry, nobody's gonna fuck up, alright?"  
Mrs. Lustig nodded, rubbing her nose. "Yes, you were. I understand. But just wait out here, alright? I'm gonna be right back." He looked untrusting, but only re-straightened his big overcoat and put his hands in its pockets. She left him to find her bag of lunch she usually saved for throughout the day, he clearly needed it more, and her phone to look up the local CPS' number and website while she waited in the hall for him to finish eating. He was just getting desperate, putting on a show. After his confession, all the passion he'd shown, the love for his father and boyfriend, she was sure he just was going to last resorts.  
Ryan's shaking legs, exhausted, could only take him to the wall before he slid quickly down it, more like falling. Every muscle in him ached and trembled for the overuse. All the walking, the getting up and sitting down, the arguing, the yelling. He felt ready to vomit, but as soon as he caught the brown paper sac hanging from her hands, he couldn't take his eyes off it. She had said she hadn't finished her lunch, maybe she'd share. His mouth fell open and started to water; he couldn't control himself. He would've jumped to snatch it from her and run, hide to eat it, but he truly was exhausted.  
The unbreakable stare at her lunch only encouraged her. His stomach even growled loudly, for a while, too. CPS was definitely something he needed. She would call as soon as she could, her next free period, luckily being 9/10, right after his class. Hopefully they could greet him at his door. She wouldn't give herself up, but maybe she could still swing him. "Honey, if you were to let me call the CPS, I won't unless you want me to, but if I did, then just think. You'd be in a home where you can eat whenever you like. As much as you like, until you're happy. Would you like that?"  
Ryan grunted, neither positive or negative. He wasn't thinking, he hardly heard what she was saying.  
"Should I call?"  
Ryan ripped his eyes away from the bag. He wondered what was inside. Maybe something good, hopefully a lot. He hadn't eaten the past Sunday. Rather, he hadn't left anything in his stomach for longer than a few minutes the past Sunday. He needed to eat, he told himself. To stay alive. He needed to eat sometimes. Maybe this would be the one time. Hopefully she liked crackers and water and celery.  
"What?"  
"Should I call the CPS?" she asked more carefully, seeing he was out of the trance. "So you could eat whenever you like, until you're satisfied. Would you want that?"  
He was still slightly dazed, wondering if he could get away with purging just a little bit in the middle of school, if he could get away from her and do it without her finding out. "No," he said quietly. "No, that's ok, miss."  
She sighed. "Ok. Just get up, alright? You can eat at the table in the classroom, but if you don't want to eat in front of everyone then... I don't want you to eat in the bathroom, but the period's almost over, I don't want you to be squashed."  
He shook his head.  
"Just get up, honey."  
He bowed his head, looking to the ground between his knees. He was ashamed. "I can't," he mumbled.  
"Why not?"  
He shrugged, "I don't know. The walking, the standing, the arguing."  
"Can you try?" she asked, hoping not to embarrass him any further than he already clearly was. She saw him shift, sit a little taller, before he shook his head. She could guess that was his attempt. "Do you need help... or just a minute?"  
He shrugged again. "Help in a minute," he said. He could only get off the ground if he had help from a table or chair, anything to drag himself up, but it was still difficult.  
"Oh, ok," she said, not sounding displeased or surprised. "Well you can wait a minute or you can just eat fast, which- oh, ok."  
Ryan sat up immediately and snatched the bag from her hand. He nearly tipped over, feeling especially weak in the legs, but he pushed himself back upright and spilled the bag on the floor. Crackers, possibly seasoned, plain yogurt, and a banana. Not the worst in the world.  
"I-." He shook his head and pushed it all away. "No, I shouldn't."  
"I already ate," she promised. And she did, just not how she had planned, yet. She assumed he didn't want to take her lunch. "I didn't finish this because I didn't want it. You have it, ok?"  
Ryan shook his head. Maybe if he could get her to tell him to eat, not just say it was ok, he could blame it on being ordered by a superior. "No, really. I, I don't need this. It's yours. I'm stealing."  
She pushed it back to him. 'I'm giving it to you- you aren't stealing. Just eat, ok?"  
He looked unsurely at her.  
"Eat it, Ryan. You do need it."  
Ryan's hand shot out for the Ziploc of crackers. He didn't even care if a flavour added more calories, or anything, really. He just couldn't stare at it and keep refusing anymore. And she had ordered him. His trembling, anticipating fingers fumbled, he couldn't get it. He grabbed it by its bulk and shoved it to her. Mrs. Lustig opened it far too slowly, she wasn't as excited as he. Ryan grabbed it back from her as soon as he'd heard at least some of it snap open.  
The yogurt was opened next, as she sat in front of him. She set her plastic spoon in it and offered it closer for when he finished wolfing down the crackers. She was a little concerned by how quickly he shoved them in his mouth, and it wasn't long before she had to pat him roughly on his back to stop his choking. He spat out some chewed, soggy mush, some landing on the bag and some just on the floor that he scooped back up, all of it, and finished it. He started the yogurt just as eagerly and she felt he was safer eating this alone, so she took his shoulder and said, "I'll be right back, ok? I'm going to get you some water." He didn't answer.  
When she got back, the little bowl was licked clean and all the crumbs on the floor were gone.  
Ryan watched her open the water, again eager. It was something more to fill his belly, and this part didn't even have calories. He was pretty thirsty, too. He tried to take advantage of the water fountains, but couldn't always with his new teachers being jerks. But when he got the water bottle, his shaking hands couldn't handle it and he ended up spilling a bit on the ground. Mrs. Lustig was kind enough to hold it to his lips for him and even spilled a little in his hands when he gestured the request. She didn't say anything while he rubbed the water on his hands and up sharply scared and still cut arms. She only poured more when he asked for his neck and shoulders. He got his face, too, trying to at least make his beard distinguishable against his dark with all-sorts-of-dirt face.  
"Do you want the banana, too?" She hardly finished her sentence before he shoved it to her, for her to open. He inhaled it. She was sure to be gentle with him, polite. She doubted he just let go like this in front of many people.  
Before scrubbing his face and taking away any of the progress made with the water, Ryan heaved a sigh and looked down at what he'd done. Now he had eighth period with her, completing one class. "You-. You won't tell anyone about anything?" he asked quietly. "About my... situation or what I just did?"  
She shook her head. "No, of course not." She had found the website with the number on it while he ate.  
~~~  
Mrs. Lustig found a quiet class room to sit in ninth period, one empty. She leaned back in the usual office chair behind the teacher's desk and waited while it rang. "Hello? Yes, reporting. I know of a boy being brutally abused by his father. He's 17, isn't fed, is attacked......" She explained that he went to her school, was one of her students. That he confessed to her, but made her swear she wouldn't call. She told them he didn't want to go and was scared his father would kill him and anybody that came to get him. She and the worker named Abigail Hoffen were on the phone quite a while. It was eventually decided that undercover, unmarked cars would drive around his court she looked up to find he lived in. They would scope out the situation, see if they could find Ryan outside by his description, "Big bruise on his neck, matted, dark, greasy brown hair even starting to push his ear out. Tall, maybe six feet, but hunched. Same clothes everyday- brown jacket, ratty, dark blue, torn sweatshirt and ripped, bloody and muddy jeans too short for him. He's starving, so, very thin face. And you'll probably smell him before you ever see him." and if they could, try and see if he might come with them. By Wednesday Abigail said they would have plenty of information of when and where they saw the boy or the father, who they thought the father would be, and if they couldn't get Ryan by then, they would take action. She promised armed officers, plenty of police cars, and anything they could conceivably need and have available. Mrs. Lustig wanted them to say they'd take action sooner, but understood that by Wednesday they would be safe with patterns.  
~~~~~~  
Ryan was both very pissed off and weirded out that next Friday. He left the house to see a dark car with tinted windows sitting outside his house. The neighbours’ visitors had never pulled up to sit right outside his house before. He stopped just off his porch to stare down the driveway they didn't quite block, intrigued. He thought could see two figures sitting up past tinted windows.  
His head snapped up when he heard Brendon calling to him on his way to the bus that was sitting at the stop, waiting for stragglers like it always did until the half hour, when it could leave and say the kids were late. "I'm coming!" he shouted back, maybe too loudly. He kept watching the figures that he swore faced his way and contemplated going up and telling them to piss off, until he froze at the sound of a screen door banging open behind him.  
"Ryan! You piece of shit!"  
His coat flared when he whirled around to see his angry father out on the porch, beer bottle held by the neck, ready to be used as a weapon rather than drink from. The car and its people were forgotten while he was too busy ducking to avoid the bottle thrown that smashed on the driveway that had been empty for near six years.  
"You left the fucking door open, you know!" George shouted, so angry he didn't even bother in looking around to see if anyone else was outside. "You woke me the fuck up and then you leave the door open? What? Are you stupid?"  
Ryan couldn't help but gasp when his hair was grabbed in a fist and pulled to the side. He shook his head.  
"Oh? You're not?"  
He nodded, this time.  
"Well what is it?! Don't make me angry, you fuck," he hissed, hanging onto the hair even while he leaned down to pick up a piece of glass that lay nearby. He threw Ryan back and swung it at his face, completely enraged with everything his son was. The way he looked, the way he acted, the way he talked. He despised it. The only way to take his frustrations out was by marring the boy.  
"I'm stupid," Ryan grunted while he grabbed the buttress of the porch overhang to help pull his weak self upright again.  
George pushed him off the pole, sending him bent to use the ground and push off to run to the bus. He threw the bloody glass down and pushed his way back into the smelly house. He slammed the door shut.  
Ryan ran as fast as he could, swinging round the corner and skipping steps up into the bus. Way out of breath, he dropped to the seat next to Brendon.  
Brendon was wide eyed. It had been a long time since George had stepped foot outside the house, and even longer since he did it to attack Ryan in public. "Oh, stop!" he called to the driver as she was pulling away. The bus jerked and she angrily called, "It's six thirty! They're late and I'm not waiting!"  
"No! No, I need the first-aid kit," he said, pushing Ryan to the empty seat opposite theirs, across the aisle. He stepped back when the woman picked it up herself and waited to be pointed to who needed. "See? On his jaw, this side," he explained and turned Ryan's head.  
"I don't need a damn first-aid kit," Ryan snapped, trying to pull his head back.  
"Watch your fucking mouth!" she barked, getting him to quiet and comply instantly. "What happened?" she grunted while she began cleaning it out.  
His heart raced to the point where he was being rocked back forth by it, alone. "Uh, um," he stammered.  
"What happened? How did you get cut?"  
"Can we just go?" he asked quietly and tried to push her hand away. "I'm fine. I don't think it's that bad."  
"What happened?" she asked firmer. "I will call the police if you don't tell me, boy."  
"There's a hook, in my house, that sticks out of the wall. It used to hang coats, but it broke a long time ago. I was walking by and it's right level with my jaw."  
"A hook?"  
"A metal, one. I broke it when I was younger, playing on it. It doesn't bend up, it sticks out and it caught me."  
"Now was that so hard?" she asked in a grunt, peeling off the gloves. "Don't touch it, now."  
"Yes, miss."  
~~~  
Ryan heaved a heavy sigh and settled his chin on his arms while he waited for the science teacher to put the notes up on the board. He had ignored the bus driver and was scratching at his new mark all holding, homeroom, and first period. He had taken the white, gauze bandage off because it was irritating, stuck on over his beard and wound by the stinging ointment. He kept scratching aggressively while the teacher approached him, probably to tell him he was late again or something of the like.  
"Do any of you have your homework?" she asked, dropping her book heavy on the table to wait. "Gary? No," she sighed. "Allison?"  
Ryan looked up at her lazily. "No- ow!" he nearly shouted and moved to grab around his open wound. He half whined, half groaned, pressing around to relieve it now that he had spoken and stretched it back open whatever it had closed. "Fuck," he hissed, pretty sure he could feel blood before he pulled his fingers back.  
Mrs. Bose carefully took his pinky, stray from the rest trying to put pressure on something hurting him. He dropped his eyes guiltily and let her look.  
It was a large, open cut, probably a whole two inches long. The huge bruise was still there, he was still in the same clothes, and he still smelled like he hadn't showered in six years. "Can you come into the hall with me?"  
He shook his head and pulled away. "I don't wanna hear it. The bus driver already did the first-aid shit."  
"Come into the hall with me," she said firmer. "Let's go."  
He groaned loudly and shot up to his feet, sending the chair back. He towered over her, looking down angrily while he waited for her to close her book and lead him out. He stood still by his desk while he watched her set down the grade book on hers, a few feet away, and only started to follow when she reached the door.  
She left her foot to hold it open; not trusting any of her students would open it for her when it closed, as all doors in the school were constantly locked. He leaned against the wall, giving his foot a rest. Just to add on, he had a limp, too. That had just appeared one day. "Should I send you to the guidance counsellor? Then the nurse?"  
"The counsellor for having a little scrape on my face?" he retorted. "Yeah, send me to fucking guidance, will you?"  
She would probably just have to learn to live with his dirty mouth. It wasn't like anyone seemed to even care to correct him. Maybe she shouldn't blame him so much, for the swearing, the rude behaviour, the smell, or any of it. Maybe he had grown up this way. "Well, not just the cut," she said. "Let's see." She held up her hand to start ticking things off. "You limp, I've seen cuts on your wrists, that massive bruise on your neck. You're the skinniest scrap of a boy I've ever seen. You smell terrible. You don't change your clothes and today you've come in here with a bad mark on your face."  
"I thought you thought I was making all this shit up."  
"I was talking about when you told me you've seen friends die and that you've seen worse than a war vet."  
"Alright, I was pissed. And I wouldn't say all those people were friends."  
"Ryan."  
"Look, just because you don't like me doesn't mean anything is wrong. I'm not fucking abused by my father, ok? He-."  
"I don't think I said anything like that." She could see his face fall for just a fraction of a second.  
"I know where this is going," he spat, leaning over a bit, but only for a second before his regular bruises forced him upright, again. "It seems obvious, doesn't it? I only live with my father, that's it. But just because you don't like my fucking life style doesn't mean you can accuse my hard working father of something so despicable. Yeah, I'm not the cleanest kid in the world. Fuck you, I don't care. I'm skinny, I know. You know how I got this?" he asked, pointing to his neck. "I was playing with some boys who live in my neighbourhood and one of them thought he was being funny. No harm done. This?" he asked, pointing to his shin. "Yeah, I'll be honest. I fell down the fucking stairs. No harm done. This? An old fucking hook in the wall for coats broke and it sticks straight out. Wasn't paying attention. No motherfucking harm done."  
"Why don't you take the hook down?"  
"Well there was no fucking point before, was there? Maybe I will, now!"  
"I hear your goddamn stomach growling all period."  
"Yeah," he said, nodding his head. "Bet I'm not the only one. It's second period. I don't eat breakfast."  
"You're the only one."  
Ryan heaved a sigh and turned to push his forehead into the wall, thinking about bringing it back and smashing it in. "Alright. You caught me, then, huh? I'm anorexic, ok? Don't you dare fucking intervene. My father made me start going to therapy when he found out- recently. I'm not going to tell the school because then they'll suspend me until I go see one of their therapists. And I don't really feel like dealing with that. So you're not going to tell the school. Hell, I'll ask her to sign papers I can bring to prove to you I go. I do."  
"Please," she sighed. "I want proof or I'll report you."  
"Yeah, man," he sighed, letting his arms wrap around his stomach as he was beginning to feel actually insecure. He was pretty sure all of Mrs. Lustig's leftover lunch went right to his stomach, already.  
"Because you should be getting help for that."  
His nose wrinkled and he rolled his eyes. She was starting to sound sincere.  
"Unless of course your father doesn't let you eat."  
"Alright, miss. I just fucking confessed to you one of the most personal pieces of me and you're still gonna keep accusing me?"  
"Why confess to me? So I'll believe it and not try and report your father for possible child abuse?"  
"I'm 17, you fuck-piece. I’m so near not being a child. I can almost say it's a choice to live with him."  
"So I'm right."  
His arms tightened and his teeth grit. Quickly, he spun and pushed her back, getting her foot from the door so he could slam it shut. "You are not going to ruin this for me," he spat, almost whispering, leaned down closer to her face. "I don't know what the fuck has been going on, lately. Y'know, yeah. Maybe one too many beer bottle has been smashed over my goddamn head. Maybe all that vodka I've been forced to drink as water has been getting to me." If he was caught, why not appal them with the conditions in which he lives? It was fun to see Mrs. Lustig's face horrified, probably thinking of her own children. Mrs. Bose gasped and backed up. "Oh, yeah," he said. "You know I was drunk yesterday. I'm drunk right now. Don't you smell it? Yeah, I am. Guess why? My sinks are so fucking clogged with rat shit and so fucking banged up from badly aimed bottles or maybe a perfectly aimed me. I get to turn them on and watch the fucking water spew just out of reach. I could just get at when I was younger, but you see I've grown. Now it only taunts me. Now I get to come to school drunk, but not parched. I started in the summer when I was eleven, and now my friends tell me I'm an alcoholic like him." Maybe this would work for him, too.  
She tried to ignore what he was saying. "Get out of my face," she said dangerously. "I will call the police if you do not take a step back." Ryan stood straight and spun on his heels to walk back to her classroom door. "Oh, yeah. It's fucking terrible in there. You know, I would say its literal hell. The rats, sometimes they like to sleep with me," he laughed and brought up his shoulders in a snuggly kind of way. "At least its a little warmer when we're all huddled together. Would you like to hear something gross? When I'm really down on my luck, I like it when they piss on me. Keeps me cosy in the winter. Of course we don't have heat. Why the fuck would we have heat? All the money goes to either: a- the alcohol; b- the electricity to keep the alcohol cold; or c- the rent to house the alcohol. They money, obviously, is his check from his disability he got years ago. He was disabled, believe it or not, when his parents refused to quit smashing his back with a baseball bat. He got set up for the disability by my mother; because she was actually able to speak to people without fearing they were all out to get her. They haven't stopped sending it, yet. I don't know why. But I keep cashing it."  
"I'm reporting this," she warned. "You just admitted it to me. I'm calling the police so they can pick you up from school and take you somewhere to get you checked out."  
"No, no," he said. "No, you won't. You are not going to ruin this for me."  
"Ruin what? Living like an animal? Do you like this?"  
Ryan held onto the door handle for support. Standing for even a short while was already difficult. "No, I don't like it, you fucker. No, what I like is being in a stable fucking home."  
"You call that stable?"  
"Actually, yeah, I do!" he shouted, whipping around. He groaned while he tried to slide slowly to the floor. "Pretty routine."  
"Get up," she hissed. "Out from in front of the door."  
"No," he returned just as angrily, finding his hip to put pressure to. He groaned and started to work down his tired leg before he could even have the strength to speak again.  
"Move and I'll call the nurse. See? He does starve you."  
Ryan shook his head, reduced to only a pained face and two hands wrapped around his gargantuan thigh. "Mm-hm," he whimpered, not able to help that he sounded like a kid.  
On the side of him he was holding, she heaved a sigh and knelt down. "What hurts?" she inquired softly while his hands worked down his legs, then turned on their own arms.  
"Everything," he said, whining in the same way, again. He couldn't keep this up, much longer. These great shows for the ones who found out, not if they were going to keep succeeding the last just a day after. He swore fighting with Mrs. Lustig had put a real toll on his battered body. And maybe being such a glutton right after really did do him more harm than he knew it did him good in the back of his head. He should have only had a little.  
She reached out carefully while his head was lolled to one side to lift his sweater up. All she saw was a purple skeleton wearing red lines and pink stripes. She was almost mesmerized by watching him breath, even able to see his racing heart beat.  
He was panting and thought about moving again to pull her hands off his shirt, but with each passing second found it more and more unnecessary and impossible. He whined. "Sometimes," he started. "It gets hard. He isn't thin, anymore. He's strong, too. It's a workout, at least. I'm benefiting him in that. It's healthier to have something working you out than just sitting all day."  
He didn't make any sort of protest when she inched closer to lift his tattered hoody higher so she could watch his ribs expand and contract. "Are you hungry? You can have my lunch."  
He shook his head. The only reason he wasn't crying was because it took too much energy. "No," he sighed. He was hardly able to talk, even. "No, thank you. I'll tell you, I am anorexic. Really. Though, it helps when I have no choice six out of seven days in the week. But, my English teacher knows. She..." He trailed off to work up the energy to fill his lungs completely, leaving him coughing weakly, but wetly. "Was it yesterday, maybe? I threatened to kill her and one of her children if she called CPS. And same to you, y'know. Obviously, I'll wait until those damn fosters can fatten me up. Jeez, that'll be the day. I'll find you. But, anyway, no thanks. I put on some great show for her, yesterday. Screamed in her face, pushed her. Paced. She gave me food yesterday and I couldn't resist. I think she's brought something, today, but I'm going to try and say no."  
"Have my lunch now and have hers later."  
"Are you deaf?"  
She scoffed, not surprised he even had time and energy for snarky remarks while he lay helpless on the floor. "Start eating when you can and you could get stronger."  
"Rather keep my figure, honestly."  
"What figure?"  
"Exactly."  
She sighed. She had let his hoody drop already, but reached out again to fix it and pat it more snuggly to him. He must have been freezing. "Can you move?"  
He grunted for his no, half asleep.  
"Fine. What can you weigh? Two pounds? -." she started, having decided to move him, herself.  
"Thanks."  
"I'll pull you aside and I'll get in to call the nurses. They can bring a wheel chair and take you down to rest while the police come."  
Ryan kept leaning heavier and heavier to one side until he fell without giving any effort at all to catch himself. She groaned at that and grabbed his arm to sit him up, but he was as limp as her youngest son when he didn't want to do something. "Come on," she coaxed, getting him upright before she could start to pull him aside.  
"Is it honestly that I've been hit on the head so many times?" he asked dully. "Because, I'll tell you, Mrs. Lustig, my English teacher, was the first to say a damn word in these past six years. Not even when I missed half of the fifth grade because I was caught in some awful mix of mourning my mother and being beaten by my father and trained by his family. They stick me in a damn dog cage, you know. One of 'em's a cop and one time they tasered me so bad I almost had a damn heart attack. Wouldn't that have been cool? Then it would all have been over. Or the time my father's sister- see, I won't call her my aunt. And she isn't my grandmother, nor is he my uncle. I've got all those from my mother's side, though I haven't seen them since the funeral. -she stabbed me in the fucking chest. Right on in there. Almost took me to the hospital. See, they played the Tasing off by saying one of the little kids had found it when I wouldn't wake up. That's what they told the hospital. Course, I got punished for needing medical help," he stalled. Talking was easy, enough, now. His only option, too. He couldn't parade around the halls with threats while he was so weak. Maybe he could warm her up for when he pretended to be crazy. Because who wouldn't be driven mad by that? And she just sat right down and listened, probably thinking he was confiding something special to her or reminiscing before he would allow her to put her hands on him and move him, before he gave up.  
"Knifes aren't that easy. Any kid can pull back a trigger. No kid is gonna get up on the table to match my height and stab a four inch blade two inches deep in my chest. As soon as it went in- I don't think she was expecting it- I was of course on the floor screaming and crying. That shit hurts, man. And over some water? When I say they're crazy, I mean they're fucking crazy. My cousin, probably four or five, gave me her little cup of water when I asked, sitting hunched down in my dog crate. I wouldn't trust any of them with a pet, so maybe that's why they got their kids a human. A whole lot more durable. So I asked her, you know. I said 'Hey, Misty.' They're all fucking rednecks. I said, 'Hey, Misty, come here.' She stuck her fat little hand through the bars and she pretends to pet me like I'm a dog. They have a damn dog, over there. The pieces of shit," he spat, unable to help but get angry. "It's not even like they have no pets and they want their kids to have something. They have a dog. They went and actually let the last kid they had in the damn thing out so they could mess up another: me. Because even the kids are sick and twisted. The cage, I here, it was my father's. He used to be kept in there, too. Why? I don't know. Maybe his sibling wanted a pet and maybe his father just wanted to shut him up. They know it's no fun to be a big boy like me cramped up in there. Yeah, it's fun when they do it. They can turn and the can walk and they can even stand. They pretend they're all dogs and cats on the floor while I look on. They make me bark and growl. It's humiliating. Absolutely. I got a fucking Taser put on me when I didn't listen. And then it wasn't good enough so I got it put on again and I just fucking blacked out. I don't remember anything but falling down and sitting back up. That was the first time. And then the adults bothered to look it the fuck up and realize that, yeah, that amount of fucking electricity can be dangerous to a 12 year olds heart. But it didn't stop them. They just took me to the hospital when it happened again. I fell down and I woke up to a white ceiling. I was so comfortable. They pretended to be concerned when the doctor told them it was a wonder my heart hadn't stopped. I was fooled, yes. I thought when they kissed my forehead and tucked my blanket back in, when they brushed back my hair and snuck me in sweets for my short stay that things were starting to change. I thought that nearly killing something more than a newborn had woken something up inside and I thought everything was ok. But then my, my- my aunt for sake of time and complexity, drove me back to my house. I smiled when she ruffled my hair and left me on the porch to go in. I was expecting to see everything fine, again. My dad was going to have at least attempted to clean up a little bit and be waiting with open arms for his little boy returning from the hospital. But those fake pieces of shit in the hospital gave me my last bits of affection from a figure like that. From an adult, from family. Look, I know you read the damn note and put it back. Maybe I was little slow, my head hurt, but I'm not stupid. I didn't just miss it. It didn't just reappear. Why you wanted to read it, I have no idea. But I guess now you know my boyfriend loves me. And he is what I live for. His affections towards me. Sometimes it's not enough and I attempt suicide, but he's always there to rip that damned gun from my hands or to shove his own finger down my throat and force up those pills."  
She didn't nod along and she didn't hum and she didn't even shift. Interrupting wasn't something she would do when he must be going mad to tell her things like that. It would simply be too rude, too insensitive to ask him to wait a minute so she could get her cellphone from the room. All she could do was wait for him to even tire himself out by talking or wait until the bell rang so he would either move on to his next class or sit in her room while she discretely contacted authorities, one way or another. He paused after he confessed his suicidal tendencies. "I can help you inside, now. Or bring a chair out for you to sit while I call the police. Then you won't ever see those people, again."  
"Yeah, but I won't see Brendon, either."  
"You don't know that."  
He nodded, deciding to use the energy building up again to massage his hips. "Yeah, I do. And-. What the fuck is going on? Yeah, I got held back fifth grade, but no one ever asked me where all the bruises and limps came from the days I decided to come in. Maybe they knew she died and were taking it easy on me. But come on. Not in sixth grade with that black eye. I'm missing teeth," he said pushing in on his cheek and further into the gap. You can clearly tell, can't you? Can you see? I've lost count of how many."  
She nodded. "It's pretty obvious."  
"Sixth grader's teeth don't just fall out. They don't just have some random hospital stay. They don't come in fuzzy headed and smelling of alcohol. What, with bags under their eyes from the stress of and lack of sleep that comes with taking care of a full grown man? I'm- I'll tell you. My dad was as thin as I am and healthy. His cheeks weren't hollow and his hair wasn't brittle with his nails and his stomach didn't pull in this far, but he looked the same as I do, under clothes. I hope to never find out for sure, but I figure I would be the same once I have what everyone calls 'the proper fucking weight' on me. But all kids are a little chubby. All the men on his side, we're willowy but we have chubby cheeks. I did, too. I guess they thought it was my time to lose the baby fat while I played too roughly with neighbourhood boys. Maybe now it's only being noticed because tenth graders aren't supposed to be playing like that, anymore. By now, we have matured at least enough to be satisfied by dirty jokes and video games instead of pushing one another out of the tallest trees. And we had our fun doing that. I was the lightest; I always got to the top. But Brendon was right behind to yank on my leg and send me back to earth. But nothing ever resulted from that.  
"The liquor smell on my breath, under what builds up from being unable to brush my teeth, is not me acting my age and experimenting. I'm trying to get a drink of water. The tobacco -if you could even pick it up - and the beginning of a smoker's cough is me, addicted and now unable to stop. I started when I was eleven. I'm sick. It's from the ammonia from piss and general stink I'm sure is filled with bacteria in shit. I'm pretty sure a cat drops by this house full of rats for an easy meal. I'm sure there's some hole small enough for her to squeeze through. Probably many, though cats and rats are the only animals that have dared enter a human's home. See this rotten smell that is sometimes like a decaying animal and sometimes just smells like I shit myself is literally from shit and decaying animals. Kids, they can't buy rat traps. They won't sell to you, but one man who fell for it when I said my father was crippled at home and my mother was forced to leave us for a week long business trip, did. Then I didn't know what the fuck to do with the rat. I didn't wanna touch it. I didn't even wanna kick it aside. So, little me, figured, yeah, I already can't see the floor under a mix of shit, garbage and two people's vomit. Honestly, I've lost all fucking respect for myself and my home. It has spiraled so far and bad out of control that I just toss the latest food wrapper on the floor while I wait for the dizziness and headache to go away. And then I'd just vomit on top of it because where the fuck else am I supposed to? I can't push the bathroom door open, anymore. I've fallen too weak. And this is so fucking embarrassing. I'm telling you what a pigsty my house is. Though, what would you guess? Looking at me?  
"Truth is, you could consider this a note, if you like. A suicide note. Usually they're on paper, I would guess. Sorrowful goodbyes and apologies or maybe an angry letter. Maybe just one or two words. I've thought up them all, over the years. But that damn Brendon, he's always there for me. Sometimes I wish he couldn't read me so well. I wish he didn't know all my hiding places in the woods where I think would be a better place to cut it off than inside that house. So, you just consider this a note, ok? A little different, but are you getting the picture? Do you see how lonely this is? How painful it is? I'm not happy. But I'm pulling through. And I'll keep going along, maybe. But you want to call the police. How do I stop you? Steal your phone? There's always another. I'm not going to hit you like he hits me; I would never put myself so damn low. Remember? When I pushed you? I panicked, a bit, didn't I? And I only wish not to be called George, because I'm now the third. He's George, too, and I never want to be like him, how he is, now. Me and Brendon, we're not even dating yet. But I swear I'm gonna propose and we are going to adopt. Now, I don't know. He may do it by himself. But we were going to grow up and we were going to get ourselves a life. Find jobs and get an apartment. Maybe move onto a house, if we could. All in good time. Then I wanted to get a kid. Maybe one from China, I don't give a shit. We were going to make that kid happy and call him Ryan. Get him his very own dog, a real one. No, crate. They tell me I'm going to be messed up from this. It's gonna fuck with my head if not soon, then when I get out. Crates, if anything, that's what's gonna do it. We'll train the damn thing not to need a crate. And I would bathe the boy every day, like I would myself. He wouldn't know what it's like to feel dirty like I do. All the time. To the point where it's torture and I daydream of showers and pray for rain. I would make sure he was nice and fat. He wouldn't need to feel hunger. And I wouldn't give him the shit I eat since I can't afford proper food to cook in a kitchen that is no longer even a kitchen. Then we were going to get a girl and name her Daniel, after my mother. Maybe Daniel Grace Ross, there's Brendon's mother. And she was going to have just as nice a time as he. No smacking that runs through my family line and no fucking degrading anything that Brendon gets from his father. It was gonna be perfect. Absolutely perfect. You're just fucking this all up, though. Aren't you? I was supposed to get out of there alive, but now I don't know."  
She sat down lower and looked him up and down, unable to get the image of his torso out of her head. She could see it past the clothes, see it bend with his slumped posture. "You don't have to kill yourself just because you're getting help. I'm going to call the police, they can take you to a foster home, and then you can live there until you find somewhere to live with your boyfriend."  
"I was gonna make him my fiancé," Ryan said sounding smitten. "I know, it sounds dumb. In high school? You aren't ready. You don't know. But I do. He's the one. I only hope maybe I wasn't the perfect fit for him, now, so that he still has that special boy to find and live the rest of his life with, with their chubby, little Asian babies running around with the dog. I only want him to be happy. You remember what I'm saying and you tell him all of this. I want him to be relieved when I kill myself, not sad. You make sure he knows none of this is his fault, because it isn't. It's yours. Tell him I knew I would be much better off dead than living like this day after wretched day, and even better dead than without him and my father. I'll be happy. No longer dirty, really. Free of any skin. I could be just a skeleton. I'd be happy, then. That's when I'd rest. And I wouldn't even feel hungry. I'm so hungry it hurts. There have been times I've doubled over with cramps, just from it. Nothing I could do. Not even like I could go home and decide a half a piece of whole wheat bread would do me good with some water. I would just say I'm lucky I've got the anorexia to go along with it. And sometimes this to go along with the anorexia. I have no choice. I couldn't get better if I tried. See, Brendon, he always tried to play the therapist. Tries to fix me, himself. Tells me how wonderful I look in the day. Not that I necessarily think it's that easy to begin with, but when I go home I have no choice but to carry along. It's a wonderful excuse. But sometimes, I want to get better. Sometimes, I wish I could give him just that. A full figured me. A happy me. It would make him happy, too. To see me eat and then sit on the couch for a cuddle with him instead of rushing to the bathroom. He would love that. But now I can't give it to him. Maybe he'll be satisfied with the fact that I'm no longer prisoner to my hated skin. To my aching joints at only 17 years of age. Nothing will hurt anymore. Right? He has the songs I've written. He can leave flowers on my headstone. But-. Oh," he sighed. He was trying to come up with the most heartfelt things he wanted to do and make sure she knew it was her fault he couldn't do them. It would guilt her, he hoped, into trusting to leave him to his own devices.  
She heaved a sigh. Six years, he said? "What?" she asked, attention caught by the silence.  
"I really wanted to see my mother's grave one last time." He was honestly choking up. "That would have been great. We were such a happy family. Me, her, my dad." He was embarrassed while he sniffled, so weak he didn't think he could move him arm to wipe his eyes. "I have no idea where she's buried, though. I was hoping maybe I could catch up with my grandmother one day and ask. Or get my father real help in a real good facility that could take care of him while I tried to move on. He could tell me, then. I could visit her and leave her flowers. She loved it when I picked the flowers she worked hard to plant," he laughed. "I could do no wrong, in her eyes. And I had the little pot I arranged them in. Oh, I thought I was so good. I always made sure they were so pretty for my pretty mommy. I've lost the pot, now. No more flowers grow in our garden. But I could plant some myself and then pick them. Or I could buy some professionally arranged for her. I would have visited her all the time. I haven't seen her since the funeral, but I didn't have flowers for her then." He blinked down the stubborn tears, getting more and more stubborn when he saw the teacher crying, too. "I was at very least hoping to get a plot near her. My father would be with her, already. Then all I would have to do is lie down and die. Brendon would know where to put me because he would come with me. While the kids stayed with their grandmother to keep them away from anything too morbid. But now I guess they'll just have to toss me in the nearest ditch. Maybe burn me. I'd like to be cremated, too. Sometimes I can't decide. I want to be with my mother while I want Brendon to have me. Maybe he could have joined us. Then the kids would follow. All of us, together. At this point, though, you're taking me away from them both. So I don't really care."  
"Ryan, you don't have to kill yourself over this. You're going to be put in an orphanage where they'll take good care of you. They won't let you not see Brendon. And there are still chances you could find your grandmother. Or your father could still get help."  
Ryan took in a deep breath before pushing himself upright, again. He worked to catch his breath while he shook his head. "You don't understand. I get taken away-. This is exactly what I told Mrs. Lustig, so I want you to listen, ok? I'm tired."  
She nodded, feeling childish under his tone. "Go ahead."  
"Right. So in this world, I love two living people. I love my father and I love Brendon. Oh, and I put on such a show for her yesterday. Waving my arms and screaming in her face and hissing and pretending to be crazy. But with you-. I swear that yesterday will have me exhausted for the month. So now I'm talking to you and I'm going to be very calm. I was trying to scare the other, you know. But now I'm tired and I feel like my jaw is going to fall off from talking your ear off, trying to guilt you and make you think they've made me mad. Clearly it isn't working. But, so this is it. I love my father, who I take complete care of. Without me, quite frankly, he would be dead. Would have choked on his vomit or died from a detox too severe. Then there's Brendon. Who I love," he said slowly. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. He's obviously gorgeous. He's funny. He's really cute, too," Ryan added tipping his head. "I could go on," he promised. "I could never stop. He's just perfect. He saves my life. Constantly. Hasn't even gotten bored, yet."  
She couldn't help the little smile tugging on her lips while he pulled his knees up to rest his chin on, holding a face with a dreamy expression. "Right," she said.  
He quickly cleared his throat and sat back, again. "Yeah. So basically, you kill me and yourself if you call the cops. Remember when I said I was trying to make you think I was crazy? Now, Brendon says this part is where I really am crazy, but I just don't see it. It's the part where I kill you and your family."  
"What?"  
He lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head. "I mean, I think it's normal. You take away what I love, my whole entire life. What I live for. My joy-."  
"You just said you hated it."  
"Sometimes," he admitted. "I hate the extension of my father's family. See, there's him, who only requires I call him sir instead of dad and that I keep quiet. He basically just beats me when he sees me. He's grown some hate. I don't know where the fuck it came from as he loved me the day before the first drink, but whatever. It's there. All I have to do it keep quiet and out of his way while providing for him everything he needs. But the part where he doesn't let me eat- and of course the beating me- come from his family. He moved in with my mother as soon as he could get out of there. But he doesn't know how old he is or was when that happened. He hated his family. Still does, when he tries to be sober on Sundays. He was abused, too. He's got that, what is it? That trauma thing. He screams when he sleeps while he isn't drinking. Very angry, I think it's actually from that. You know. They had him in a cage, as well. I wouldn't say too much different from how they treat me. Now, why he was picked among all of his siblings, I have no idea. I figure I'm stuck with it today because I'm her son. They hated him before she came along and after. But once I came, it was all on me. Never even her. But, now we never saw his family. Why would we? He hates them. She hates them. I didn't know them. But then she died and they found out. They literally came to my house and kidnapped my father and me. All of 'em live together. He's the only one that moved out. And it's the same house it's always been. So, now, we went over and it was only two weeks after she died. I was eleven," he sighed, giving her time to mumble a 'sorry'. He acknowledged it with a nod. "He didn't work, not that I could ever remember. They messed him up mentally and physically. But he always stayed home to watch me while my mother was still out. So, naturally, he grieved with me at home all since it happened. My father never drank. I showed up with my messy but clean hair, I had my glasses on a little lopsided and my t shirt was un-tucked. My face was red and stained with tears, but I was clean. My father walked in wearing his usual suit. I can remember his sister, my Aunt Amber and the strictest, worst of them all, reprimand him for how I came in. Sniffling and with a shoe untied. That's despicable. But anyway, he just squeezed my shoulder and pulled me in tighter. He held my hand and they glared at me. Even the little boy, two at the time, now eight, followed suit. The dog growled at my feet and my dad pulled me aside when he saw I was scared. I could tell he didn't want to be there, either. But he accepted the beer they gave him. Here's where I say I've seen some pretty fucked up shit.  
"We walked in and among this group of people, lying helplessly on the ground in front of steps, was a boy. I by no means had it the worst of us three. I have it the easiest. This boy responds to being called 'the dog' or 'thing.' That's it. We walked in and they asked my father, 'Remember baby George?' This is where it gets fucked up. There lay a boy who must have been prepubescent. He lay naked. My father told me the story, ok? Because this boy will never be able to tell another person a story. When my father was there, his sister had a boy. They kept this boy. He was born in the house and never left. Not to this day has he ever seen outside. He was maybe two or three when my father left. The nicest baby you'd ever meet. His name was George. My father's name is George, as was his father's. This is before I was alive, too. This little boy never stopped smiling or laughing or playing in his own little world. He could talk such great English and he could walk. He could run so fast. Not baby fast. He could move. Skip forward however many years. He lies on the ground caked literally in his own shit. His legs, there's something wrong with his legs. He cannot walk. At first I thought he was paralyzed, but he uses his legs as if they are one and he uses them efficiently. He talks in a language he made up. I don't even know where the fuck he got it from. He was put into a small cage when he was two and came out when they had kidnapped me the first time. He never came out. Not to use the bathroom, not for exercise, not to eat. Now he is blissfully dumb. Doesn't have a clue of what is going on around him. He stays in his room, mostly. Cage free. He gets fed dog food once a day, when he asks. He gets to pick when. He gets water, now. He drags himself on the floor and falls down the steps whenever he comes for his food. They keep him in the attic, the one who can't walk. My father was not kept in the cage like that. He could get out when they let him, which was rare, but still. He used the proper bathroom at night. He was also given dog food. I am given dog food. But, now my dad, he's a lot slacker than them. Less evil and more brutal. At my mother's family's house, you could do whatever you wanted. It was great. Nobody cared when you just left to go get a drink whether it was water or milk. If there was a tray of food on the counter you could just take what you wanted and carry on. Maybe go to the next. My grandma would make me eat, even, if I was already. The way I see it, now, they're all mad. That's a mad house when you just let everyone do what they want. Especially me. At this woman's house, I followed the example of the two-now-eight year old and tried to take a little food off the counter. But my hand was slapped before my face and I was pushed back. My dad tried to pull me away when my aunt called me greedy, fat, a pig. Just rude. He couldn't shout back at her, she was in his nightmares. I don't think he could take me away, either. That would be disobeying. He had to wait until they dismissed us. He just fell back into his routine when he lived there, probably waiting for his father around the corner who had the belt in his hand. I didn't know that at the time. So, as we were sitting, my self esteem already shit and now ruined after I tried to take food. I was humiliated. But, we were sitting and I was thirsty. So, not knowing my dad was as scared as I was uncomfortable and sad, I tugged on his elbow. He flinched and turned to look at me wide eyed, not moving his folded hands sitting on the table top. He wouldn't eat, though he could. I asked him for water, but before I could find out what his response would be, my uncle yanked my shirt and pulled me back rough. He told me I didn't deserve even water, not when I came from her and him."  
She knew he was stalling, now. But she didn't mind. Past all the urges pushing her to cover her ears so she wouldn't need to hear the sickening stories, she was intrigued. She could always just call, next period. And that was her plan.  
He took in a deep breath, now second guessing his plan. He should have toughed it out and pinned her to the floor when he had the chance. Now he was stuck. "So," he kept on going. "That's what it was like over there. I didn't know what was going on when they teased my father, saying they should get the crate down from the attic and stick me in it. When they laughed while they told him his younger brother was a police officer, now, and had his gun and his Taser and his mace in just the next room. It was scary seeing your own father, who you know to be fun. Who smiled everyday and played with you despite his aches, on the ground. It was scary to see him terrified. He was rim-rod straight and silent, hanging his head when they spoke to him. Looking only at his lap and ignoring them when they offered him his dinner plate. Now I've learned to do the same. All because of them, though, not him. At home it's different. No rules. I can do what I like. You know I slept for a week in the woods until winter came. I could try and get water. I could roam around the house. We don't own a crate or a Taser. Only a gun and a knife. The gun is something to scare me and the knife is for discipline. He tried to have the same rules as them, but he doesn't. He's seen me drinking his vodka in the fridge, before, grunted, and walked away. I get stuck in this tiny fucking closet if I'm bad and come out the next time he's sober. Or, well he's never sober. The next time he's more with it. But I'm only bad when I wake him up or when I come inside or when he ran out of drink. Generally? I think he hates my guts. And I think it's honestly because I'm like her. He misses her too badly. I think there might be a likeness between us that he just can't stand. I know I don't look like her. It's hard to remember, but I talk like her. And I mean, like," he laughed. "Like my mom was this great woman. Beautiful, gentle. She didn't swear like a bitter sailor. I hold myself like her. Womanly, maybe. Maybe that's more why he's mad. Being gay is a huge no-no."  
"I saw the picture," she said, nodding. "When it fell from your pocket? She is beautiful."  
He inclined his head back. "She says I was a boy version. But, anyway. There are the differences. Now, I couldn't give a shit if they all dropped dead right this instant and moved on to burn in hell for eternity. Or maybe I would. I would be grateful. But him? Not him, please not him. He's my father. When he can manage a sober hour or two for our Sunday dinner, he... He's my dad. He kisses my head and he tells me my hair is a literal rat’s nest while I tease him for getting fat and not seeing the light of day in years. We have fun. We order pizza with what money is left and he lets up on the one rule that wriggled into his house to let me eat with him. We were religious, I guess, before. And his family is, like, hardcore religious. So either way, he wouldn't hit me on Sundays when he knows what day it is. He tries his best not to drink, then, but I can't blame him when the headaches get too bad and the shakes are too unbearable. He takes his pills when he remembers, and I take them when I want it to be over. I don't like his family, but I like him. And like I told my English teacher, there are three ways out of this situation. A: you leave me the fuck alone and my father, too. You let me carry on because I know I can. Basically you just won't be selfish in wanting to be the one who reports the abuse and instead leave it to go unnoticed until it's over. When Brendon and I can move away. B: you send police to my house, prompting my father to get the gun and put a bullet in my head, in front of watching CPS workers trying to 'rescue' me, and then to put one in his own. Or of course let's say I make it out of there. Then I am taken to a children's home where I am fed and bathed and 'loved', as if anyone could love me other than the two people who already do, one of which, actually, doesn't know something big about me. Brendon, see-. I'm not telling you, but I'll tell you there's something even worse lurking in my past and-. But, anyway. And of course I know your name. I can find you, it won't be hard. I then gather you and your husband and your children and- depending on my mood- I could either kill one kid in front of you and everyone else, and then you. I go or turn myself in, I don't really care. Or I could pick you off one by one. The youngest kid to the oldest, then the partner, then you and then myself. Or, maybe, before I even kill myself I could kill Brendon. Would you like that? Ben, too. From this class because he such an asshole. Maybe that girl that sits next to me because she wrinkles her nose so I can see it and scoots away loudly. Then myself. Do you hear this? Listen to me, don't cry. I'm not yelling and I'm not going to. No, don't cry. I don't know why you're so upset. All this is easily avoidable."  
"You just threatened to kill me and my family! I'm gonna cry."  
"Don't," he said just as softly as he had been talking. "No, it's ok. Really. Let me give you the third and final option just so you're aware. The third option is-. Well here, I'm not straight. I'm pansexual. That's a no-no. But it's also not a choice as I'm sure you've heard over and over and over again. So, not that you would, you wouldn't benefit anything from this. But don't you dare tell a single soul that I am queer or that Brendon Urie is queer. Got it?" he asked. She had started to quiet back down and nodded behind her hands drying her face. "Because then there is the smallest possibility that word spreads and Brendon feels the need to formally out himself to his mother. Then-. Oh, he's such a baby when it comes to his mom. She asks him what we do in her house and he confesses that we have sex in his bed. And then she could get angry and decide my father needs to know. So he decides I need to be dead. Now, if I were to somehow make it alive from there, the same fate would come to you as with the second option. Honestly, whether it's you that causes it or not. I would just be angry and probably kill you, anyway. Again, your family, too. Not Brendon, this time, though. Not him. I would still kill some random kids, probably. Anybody I saw. And I know this is upsetting you, but I'm just being honest."  
She nodded. "Ok."  
"Which do you choose?"  
She hesitated for only a moment before saying, "The first. I won't tell."  
"Oh, good!" he said, sounding delighted. "That was what I was hoping for. I would have picked that one, too. Now we all get to live happily ever after. You don't die. Your kids don't die. Your husband doesn't die. You don't even need to have a bad conscious. Because I'm telling you now that I like this. I want this. To live this way and to take care of him until Brendon and I can be open and alone. I'm thanking you for picking this. Mrs. Lustig wasn't this easy. She isn't as smart as you. I think I'm perfecting my technique. With her I was pushing her and begging and talking about how much I love my father and Brendon. But I think now telling stories is the way to go. Hopefully I won't need it again, but thank you. Now I know what to do, I think."  
"How often do you see your further family?" she asked before she was going to suggest they go back inside. "Not a lot?"  
"No, a lot," he said, nodding while he tried to sit. "Quite a bit. I think I'll be there, tomorrow."  
"Tomorrow?"  
"Yeah." he sighed. "My aunt usually picks me up whenever she feels like. They don't live too far and it's unusual I miss them for a weekend. They don't like me in their home on Sundays, though. I'll be picked up, today. Soon after school so I can stay in the crate or outside or, you know, whatever. And they like to take me off my poor father's hands so they have something to play with. I think they like him, now. Now that he's rejoined them and drinks like they do and they have someone to replace him. So... I'll be fine, though. Like always. If they were going to have gotten me, they would have already."  
She nodded and started to stand. "Let me help you up. Can you at least walk?"  
He shook his head and waved her away. "I can do it," he groaned while he felt around for the door handle. He pushed her arms off in reaction to see something foreign coming close, before she could press on his side and irritate his injuries with well meaning.  
She held back and waited for him to fall back to the ground, unable to help himself anymore and out of breath. "Here," she said and offered her hands forward. His dwarfed hers, but he still took them after only a moment's contemplation. She had just started to pull him up when he moaned, clearly in pain, and so she let go.  
Ryan leaned heavily against the door and tried to catch his breath. "No, just keep going," he said between breaths, knowing it was her who slowly let him back to the ground as a response to his pain instead of just dropping him when he was too heavy.  
"Are you sure?"  
"It's gonna hurt no matter what. Now, please," he asked, out of breath with trembling arms reaching forward for her to take. He groaned just the same and worse as he kept going, but she kept walking back until he found his feet. "I need water," he said, still breathless and was only half sure he got a nod before walking off.  
She waited for him at the door and watched him try to get a drink. The fountain was so small; she was even taller than it. But it was tall enough that sitting on his knees took it out of reach and so he had to lower himself down by wedging in the nook the fountain was nestled in the wall. He spent the rest of the five minutes in the period drinking and catching his breath to keep drinking.  
~~~  
In English, Mrs. Lustig set a bottle of water down on his desk while no one else was looking. He drank it all, some even went with the sandwich she had brought him. Ryan promised himself that he wouldn't take anything on Monday. He would tell her that his father had maybe smelt something on his breath and punished him for it. But one more day couldn't hurt. Another cup of yogurt, baggie of crackers, and banana was given to him. With water already taking up some room, he had to leave a few crackers. She had drug a desk out, like she might if a student were to take a test, but he sat down to eat. And he ate more slowly, too. He also stood easily, unlike the day before, when he might as well just say she picked him up with the effort, or lack thereof, that he gave. He thanked her with reddened cheeks when he was finished and shook her hand. "I really can't ask you to bring in anymore than you already have," he said, hoping she wouldn't even bother to tease him on Monday. "I really, really do appreciate it, but I've been going on the same routine for six years, I'm not being hurt anymore than I always have been." "No," she said, though. He wished she would just stop. Because now he was going to have to look at the same, big lunch he wouldn't mind having fill his stomach again and say no thank you. "It really is no problem. If you won't let me call the CPS, at least let me feed you, ok? Really, I don't mind at all."  
~~~  
Ryan got home and hardly noticed the bus was following another tinted car, a different one, until he was dropped off and the car waited for him to enter the court. He was being followed, which meant his friends were, too, he was walking with them. And that meant Brendon was. He didn't fear for Jon or Spencer. They were stronger and lived much closer to the bus stop, him being the closest, than Brendon did. And Brendon had said he was feeling a little sick that day. "I'm gonna walk you home," he muttered, watching the car, just as they would have split, him and Brendon.  
"Gaaaay," Spencer groaned.  
"No," Ryan, said, stopping. "There was a fucking tinted car outside my house this morning with two people sitting up in it, watching me. Look, it's still there. Been there all day."  
"How would you know if it was tinted?"  
"I could obviously tell or I wouldn't have said it, you jackass."  
"Walk me home!" Jon cried. "Ryan, I'm scared. Walk me home!"  
Ryan, the only facing the street and the car that had found a parking space where it didn't belong, hardly cared about the teasing. "Shut up," he spat when his distracted brain processed what Jon was saying. "You two are stronger and live right there."  
"Hey," Brendon whined, hardly even caring. His stomach was aching and he had to pee again and he was exhausted. "I want to be stronger."  
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Just go, ok? I want to see if it's following me," he mumbled. The car was still running in its spot. Maybe it was trying to trick him, make it seem like it would go without him. But it didn't. Jon and Spencer walked right in front of it, making Brendon call to them, "What are you? Stupid? Why the fuck would you do that?" when Jon had even grazed its bumper with his hip.  
Ryan put his hand on Brendon's shoulder blades and started to guide him away. The car stayed put until he got halfway to Brendon's house, halfway across the court. It caught up to him once he had gotten Brendon safely to his door.  
"Why don't you come inside, alright?" Brendon asked hanging onto his own book bag straps. "It's freaking me out, baby."  
Ryan shook his head and looked to see the window was rolling down. "No, no I'm sure it's just... I would have been abducted by now; they had me alone this morning. And when have you ever heard of a group like that working together?"  
"Hey!" Ryan snapped his head over when the man from the tinted car called to him. Brendon got behind him and wrapped his arms around Ryan's hips and poked his head past Ryan's side to watch. "Yes, sir?" Ryan called back. He would say sir, but he wouldn't get closer.  
"You live here, boy?" the man asked, leaning on the steering wheel. He had a blue button down on, from what Ryan could tell, and thick, jet black hair.  
Brendon started trying to drag Ryan back, inside. "Come on, babe," he groaned when Ryan pulled away and answered the man. "Yeah," he said. "Yes, sir."  
"What do you want?" Brendon shouted, taking Ryan's hand and refusing to let go or to stop tugging him back. "Can we help you?"  
"Yeah, um, you know this town? How do I get to the closest grocer?"  
Ryan nodded and continued trying to pull his hand away. "Get the fuck outta this development filled with small children with your creepy ass stalker car and take a fucking left till you see it, you fuck."  
"Thank you!" The window rolled up and the car left.  
Brendon hit Ryan on his arm and ignored the wince. "Don't be rude and don't talk to strangers."  
Ryan smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to Brendon's closed lips. "Ok, my love. I'll see you tomorrow?"  
Brendon shook his head. "No, you idiot. I told you my mom freaked out and grounded me for no reason, already."  
He rolled his eyes and pressed him another kiss. "Alright, my dear. I'll see you Monday."  
"Mm-hm. Eat on Sunday, ok? Keep it all down and be careful alright?"  
"How about you sit with me on your bench till your mommy comes home, ok? He's been grumpy lately."  
"You mean normal?" Brendon snapped and plopped down onto his bench.  
"Ooh," Ryan went playfully. "What has gotten into you?"  
Brendon glared at him. "You could've been ok. I could've and I should have given you away and you wouldn't have to worry about going inside your own damn house anymore."  
Ryan put his arm around Brendon and pulled his shoulders over to kiss his head. "I'm not worried, my dear."  
Brendon rolled his eyes angrily and shoved somewhat playfully into Ryan. It didn't take long for him to catch a different coloured car, with tinted windows, only drive around the court. But it circled back and parked in a free spot.  
Ryan quickly pulled his arm from around Brendon and slid away. "Hello, sir, can I help you?" he asked, taking the lead when a man in a green t shirt and jeans walked up to them with some pamphlets in his hand.  
"Do you live here?" he asked.  
Ryan shook his head. "Not this particular house, no."  
"I do."  
Ryan furrowed his eyes at B. "Don't tell him that, babe," he scolded. Brendon only shrugged his shoulders. "Strangers."  
The man smiled, playing someone friendly, someone new. "Oh do you?" he asked and handed him a pamphlet. "Hi, I'm Josh Retter," 'Josh' said.  
"Brendon," B said confidently and shook the man's hand.  
"It's nice to meet you. I just-. Sorry. I'm new. I'm helping out with a new census. Maybe you two could look at these question? I just saw you two outside so I thought why not start here than with doors?"  
"These are from 2001," Ryan grunted, looking at the very back, the bottom. He looked to Josh for an explanation. "New?"  
Josh swallowed his lips and found the date. The census wasn't real and never would be. It was only used for cases like these. "Recycling?"  
Brendon found the date, too. "Maybe it's just, like... Yeah, recycling."  
Josh shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know why it would say that. I don't know what it means, certainly not the date printed. These are from just yesterday. But, yeah, sorry. I just-. I'm not great at being too social even enough to-. This is freaking me out but I have to take these around so I, I drove by once I was like, 'Yeah, I don't know' but I decided to give it a shot before I got in trouble. But, yeah, I just moved here. A little lost without everyone I already know."  
"Oh. Where'd you move from?"  
"Arizona, actually."  
"Why?" Ryan asked. "Why would you move here?"  
"Ryan," Brendon gasped and smacked him in the ribs only lightly, but anything was enough to make him grab the spot and wince. "He just moved here, don't be mean. Show him people here are nice."  
Ryan scrubbed his face. "Do you honestly believe that?"  
"I- I came to be with my girlfriend, actually. She came to be with her mother who's, you, know, not doing too well." He had the act very well planned out, by now.  
"Aww," Brendon sighed. "I'm sorry."  
He smiled weakly and nodded. "Yeah, thank you."  
"So why's your car tinted?" Ryan asked playing with the pamphlet, hitting his knee with it as it sat crossed over his other leg. "That isn't allowed."  
"Oh, yeah. Prescription, actually," he said, pointing to his eyes. "Of course I forgot my glasses, they're the kind that get dark when it's bright. But that's ok, so long as I have my car tinted I'll be ok. That's what's important."  
Brendon smiled. He liked this Josh, he was nice. "Well I hope you like it out here," Brendon offered. "I do."  
"No, yeah. Totally. I just-. What's your name, now?" he asked Ryan and lifted his clipboard. "I'm just gonna take them down, if you don't mind."  
Ryan eyed him up and down. "My name is George, sir. George Ross. It's nice to meet you."  
Josh seemed to nervously toss the board over to one hand so he could hurriedly shake Ryan's hand. "Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you. Um, sorry, don't mean to sound like a predator, but where do you live? I don't wanna hit the same house twice, I'm awkward enough as it is."  
Ryan smiled politely and pointed across the court. "Over there. What's it? With the 204 above the porch," he said as he often had to redirect delivery boys or postage men, they could hardly ever find the numbers. "And, yeah, don't knock."  
"No?" he asked, curious and worried sounding "Why not?"  
Ryan smiled again. "Oh, you know. My father doesn't like visitors, 'specially when I'm not there to answer the door. I'll make sure I give him this pamphlet, though."  
"He pretty shy?"  
Ryan shrugged. "Yeah, I guess he is."  
"So, em. Why aren't you with him? What if someone knocks there while you're here?"  
"He can get pretty annoying," Ryan decided. "So, hopefully no one does and he won't be angry with me when I get back in. But he probably will be, anyway. He's always mad at me."  
"Oh," he sighed. "Well that isn't cool. What about your mother?"  
"Dead."  
"Sorry."  
Brendon scooted closer and put his hand on Ryan's chest, making him jump and grab his wrist. "You should go back, now," he said. "I don't feel good, I want to lie down and if you're going to go back at all you should do it sooner than later so he won't be AS mad."  
Ryan shook his head. He let go of Brendon to find his jet black hair to pet instead. "I'll go before it gets too late, ok? Just let me rest a minute. Maybe I'll even just wait outside for Amber to pick me up. Would that make you feel better?"  
Tentatively, Brendon nodded and sat back.  
Josh looked awkward. "What's he, hit you, or something?"  
Ryan scoffed and let his fingers trace over his big bruise.  
Josh saw it and stepped forward to look. Ryan didn't seem very unwilling to show him. He didn't try to hide it. "Are you ok?"  
Ryan nodded. "No, yeah. He doesn't hit me, alright? I was playing fucking baseball with my friends and they think they're real funny."  
"You should get some new friends," he said, a laugh in his voice. "They seem pretty mean."  
He shrugged. "Can be. It was cool, though. We were all fucking with each other."  
Their big white minivan caught Brendon's eye. "My mom's here."  
Ryan looked to see and let out a groan. "Please don't go. I'm tired, I don't want to hear his bitching and she'll probably come late with my luck."  
Grace smiled at the man on her porch. "Hello, can I help you?"  
"Hi, I'm Josh Retter. Just handing out some pamphlets for a census."  
Really creeped out, she nodded. "Grace. It's nice to meet you."  
Brendon hung his head when she turned to him. "You should be inside," she snapped. "You're grounded, Brendon." He stood and slinked to the door, not going to argue.  
Ryan left with that, too. "Yeah, my aunt's gonna be here," he mumbled to the adults and hurried off.  
The Josh waited for the door to close all the way and for Ryan to be out of ear shot. "So, um, my name isn't Josh. I can't tell you what it is, however. I'm an undercover, uh, spy for the CPS."  
Grace nodded, glad to hear he was actually for a child protective service and not trying to abduct her son and his friend. He showed her his proof, his badge and his card. "What's this about, then?"  
"The boy who was sitting here with your son. We've gotten a report that he's being abused at home. Um, said he gets hit, he gets cut up, he isn't fed but on Sundays. You know, sadly, the regular. And actually, a patrol car on the other side of this court got a recording of the father actually coming outside and attacking him with what looked like a glass bottle before the boy ran away. His father, we hear, is an alcoholic. And so we're out here trying to figure things out. The reporter said Ryan doesn't want to go, that he loves his father and would never just come with us. We're trying to see when and where we see him around, if we can spot the father. So I just need to know if you have any information on the either of them."  
Grace shook her head. "No, no. I would never even guess that something like that was happening to him. Are you sure you've got the right boy?"  
He nodded. "By the description. His clothes, his height, his hair. His bruise on his neck."  
"I never saw any bruise."  
The man nodded. "I'm not sure how old it is, ma'am, but I did just see it. He has the right name and address that the caller told us. The caller had said that he ended up telling them everything in the hallway; I think the caller was one of his teachers. The caller said he was just down the nurse and the guidance counsellor, but that he had lied through that and when she asked what was going on, something twisted and he ended up being caught, so he just confessed easily. Now, the caller said that he had said he only had his father and his boyfriend, whoever that is, and that he was planning on finishing high school and moving somewhere, even if they ended up being homeless, with the boyfriend after he's passed his dad onto someone who could take care of him. So he isn't going to be willing to come along if I were to tell him I was going to help him out. Um, caller has also said that he threatened to kill them if they would call us. Caller said George, going by Ryan, promised to stab caller, bash caller's head in and kill one of caller's son's in front of caller's other sons and husband. Caller said he was crazy, clearly. That he was going to wait until his new home helped him to gain the proper weight back and until he was strong enough to, you know, kill caller. But then we don't outright believe anything to be 100 percent true. Caller could be lying, everything could be ok and this Ryan could just be a little dirty and honestly just have a bruise from some friends playing baseball with him. But I'm telling you all this, wondering if maybe you know anything. I'll say Ryan and your son are friends, so maybe he'll know the boyfriend and where we can find him. The caller did say that Ryan told her his boyfriend was all for ratting him out. But, now, we've also heard that Ryan expects to be shot and killed should his father find out CPS was trying to help him or that he is interested in the same sex. So, it would be great if you could ask your son even right now, but only if you can trust him not to spread word of either of those things to anyone at all."  
She nodded along and bit her tongue until he was finished. "My son is actually his boyfriend, but he hasn't come out of the closet to me. I found out by mistake, so I'm not really supposed to know. So you, know, don't tell him you know. But I'll go get him right now."  
"Great, yeah. Thank you."  
Brendon smiled at the Josh man when he was called by his mom to come back and talk. "Yeah?"  
Grace brushed back his bangs. She truly hoped she wasn't about to tell him any news. "This man is actually from CPS, ok? He says someone called in and told them that Ryan's father hits him. Can you tell him anything?"  
Brendon shook his head immediately. "No, not at all. His dad hits him?"  
Grace kept running her fingers through his hair. "Are you sure you don't know anything?"  
Brendon nodded. "Are, are you sure it's Ryan you're looking for? His dad doesn't hit him."  
"So what do you say the bruise was from?"  
Brendon had his life in mind. He knew Ryan would kill him if he found out he had helped the child protective services find him. "We were all playing baseball and Spencer had the ball. We were just messing around and he clearly didn't realize he was actually hurting him. He just thought Ryan was playing around, too, joking with him."  
"You were there when that happened?"  
"Yeah, sort of. I was talking to Jon, our other friend, while he was doing it, though. The game was kind of over. Me and Spencer won."  
"How often do you guys hurt each other?"  
Brendon shrugged. "Never to that extent. I mean, we push each other around, but other than that, the last time anyone got hurt was when Jon shoved me and I tripped over the bump in the sidewalk. I scraped my knee but he got me a bandage and my mom kissed it, too, when I went inside. I didn't cry though, not until I was in."  
Grace smiled almost apologetically at the man who was smiling at Brendon.  
"Ok, that's good. That sounds nice. So you wouldn't know anything? Not if Ryan's dad hits him at all, even a little, if he feeds him?"  
"I wouldn't know if he did or doesn't. I mean-. I wouldn't say he hits him. I don't live with him, though, but I wouldn't guess he does. Ryan really loves his dad and his dad really loves him. And yeah, of course he feeds him."  
"Ok. Now, you know you can't say anything about this next question, don't unless Ryan specifically tells you, you can. But the caller- and I'm not saying we know the caller was being truthful about any of the allegations they made- said that Ryan has a boyfriend. I just need to know if you might know who the boyfriend is, so we can get more information from him."  
Brendon shrugged and shrunk.  
"You don't know?"  
He found his mother to hide behind and held her like he held Ryan, with his arms around her waist. "Me."  
"You?"  
"Maybe."  
"Ok, well the reporter said that Ryan told them he has a boyfriend he loves very dearly, so maybe he'd know something and be willing to help."  
"I still don't know anything."  
"Now you can trust me, alright? Everything is completely confidential. So, with that, can you tell me if you're only saying you don't know anything because maybe Ryan has threatened to do something to you? Maybe kill you or anything otherwise?"  
Brendon shook his head with a nervous smile on his lips. "No, not at all. He's never threatened me."  
"You sure?"  
"Positive."  
"One more thing, then. Do you know what his father looks like? Can you describe him for me?"  
Brendon shrugged. "Very usual. White, as tall as Ryan, heavy, pretty heavy... Um, his hair's getting kinda long. Ryan wasn't lying when he said his dad was shy, he hasn't come out in nearly six years, now. So he's a recluse, I highly doubt you'll see him when you drive around. Oh, and they look exactly the same except for that his dad's got some scars. He's got a slash cutting his face, a hole in his cheek, and burns along his jaw along with some other smaller scars. Um, I guess that's it."  
"Alright," he said and shook Brendon's hand. "I just ask that you don't reveal the purpose of the tinted cars that'll be following your friend around a while, while we sort things out, ok? It's important he doesn't know anything. And I know they look a little creepy, but you can tell its CPS if it has the thin red stripe at the bottom of both plates, ok? If you don't see that then you need get back inside and lock your doors."  
Brendon smiled and nodded. Trusting and knowing they would play along, he even gave Josh Jon and Spencer's doors, when he asked. They both knew it was Spencer who put the bruise there. It was always Spencer, always the same story of him not realizing Ryan wasn't playing along when he told him to stop. It had been since fifth grade.  
"Mom, I'm gay," Brendon said, just to come out more formally.  
"Oh, really?"  
"Yeah," he said, sounding quiet and unsure. He couldn't place why she sounded so mad. It wasn't even like his grandmother was still there. She had left early do to another emergency at her house. She was always leaving early.  
"Good, because now I get to fucking yell at you, mister. Do you know what you did?"  
Brendon's mouth was open slightly in his disbelief. "You always told me it would be ok," he said, voice high and getting frantic.  
"It is," she shot back. "But guess what happened Tuesday? I came home early! And my god, Brendon. Haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door? I mean, seriously, B!"  
His jaw had really fallen on the ground at that. "Mom."  
"Why would you do that?" she screamed. "What is wrong with you? You're sixteen, Brendon. You don't need that! Oh, you're lucky you never told me, before, or you and Ryan both would have been in the hospital."  
"But, Mom," he cried.  
"Don't you but, Mom, me. Do you know what you did? Do you even understand? Why, Brendon? Why would you do that? Why?"  
He put up his hand to her and stomped off to his room, shutting the door as quickly as he could and locking it to protect himself from her knocking like she wanted the door destroyed."  
"And you have a doctor's appointment this Sunday, you disrespectful, ungrateful brat!"  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Ryan hurried past his father, snoring loudly in the chair to get to the door before the bell could disturb him. He knew his aunt knew she could piss off her brother if she kept ringing, and then get Ryan in trouble, in turn.  
He opened the door and inclined his head deep, even bowing to her only to straighten back up and see the corner of her thin lips turn up. He was surprised to see Norma. She slammed the screen door shut, or tried, while he was in it and making sure the door was closed well enough. He didn't have a key, but wasn't exactly afraid of anyone coming to steal his father or his nonexistent property, anyway.  
He saw the tinted car sitting in its same spot, windows still tinted past any possibility of really seeing in but for maybe a stray shadow. He forgot about it quickly, not thinking anymore of it, now that he couldn't see anyone, than it just being a car that shouldn't be tinted. It wasn't uncommon. Only getting in his aunts car quickly concerned him, so she wouldn't get angry. His seat was the one with the dirty towel laid messily over top.  
"We all missed you so much!" Norma sneered.  
Ryan hunched his shoulders over and hung his head low. "Yes, miss."  
"Misty wants her doggy back! And she's excited to play horsies again. Aren't you?"  
"Yes, ma'am."  
She laughed. "Oh, yeah, I know you are. And the thing's been in a bit of a bad mood, lately. I think it'll be ready to take out all its anger when you get there."  
He nodded, in case she was looking, too. "Yes, ma'am." He knew the boy was rarely ever in a bad mood, but when he was, things could get ugly.  
"Yeah, I'll bet," she spat. "You know, Ryan, it wouldn't have to be like this if you weren't such a disrespectful brat. You bring all this upon yourself, really."  
He nodded again. "I know, miss. I'm sorry."  
She moaned. Not an annoyed moan, not an angry one. She moaned.  
He lifted his eyes first, to see she was watching the road, before he could bring up his head and look oddly at her. He, not for any reason, turned and saw a very suspicious tinted car following along behind them.  
~~~  
It was hard to not outwardly glare when he stepped in to see his youngest, second most brutal cousin squeal when he walked in. She was three, named Misty, and the most interested in him. She made him pretend to be an actual dog. Making him bark and feeding him dog food when sitting in the cage was not good enough. She had a stick that she could spend days stepping back and rushing forward to ram it into him. All the other kids played occasionally, but he seemed to be her favourite toy. And she only viewed him as toy. Just something she got to play with that was cool because it was alive and reacted. Her plastic Barbie dolls and toy animals weren't as fun, he assumed. Not when he actually ate the food and really barked and really, though he was forced, pressed up against the cage when she wanted to pet him, and cowered back when she told him he was bad. Apparently the really real, big brindle pit bull wasn't good enough. Maybe it was because he couldn't get bored and walk away or get angry and snap teeth at her.  
"Doggy!"  
"Now, be patient, Misty," Amber said. She turned to see Ryan and bounced the crying baby in her arms.  
"No," he said. "No, please, miss. I'll do anything. I-."  
"Shut up, you piece of shit!" she roared, making the baby scream along with its twin. "Who ever gave you the right to talk? Do you think you can just do that to me?"  
"No, miss. I'm sorry," he said in a bow to her. "Very sorry, miss. I'll-."  
"Shut up! Now get in your crate until Jack gets here so he can watch. He's been waiting nine months for this and you won't be ruining this for anybody."  
"Yes, ma'am."  
The thing came tumbling down the steps when he heard shouting. His head was aching and he was running low on glue. Nobody would replenish his stocks, and he hadn't even been eating for the past three days. He wore a scowl while he stomped over to look up at one of them and close his eyes. He tapped his lips, but they didn't move to get him his food. They didn't hit him this time, either, but he was still hungry.  
"Get him," Amber quickly shouted and pointed urgently to Ryan. "Take him out back, quickly. Move!" She was frantic when the door bell rang, and then the impatient visitors knocked. Jack would not do that. "Quick! Um, the dog's got brain damage. Do you here, me?"  
"Yes, Amber! Shut up! We can all hear you."  
Ryan was shoved through the door first, before his uncle, Earl could join him. "You're not with it, boy, you hear me?"  
"Yes, sir."  
Melody smiled at the two men she opened the door to. One was a police officer, and one was a man in a yellow shirt that said 'CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES' in blue stitching across his left chest. "Hello? Can I help you?"  
"Uh, yeah. I'm John and this is Officer Greg. Just looking up to check on a boy that might be in your home, right now. A George Ryan Ross?"  
"Oh, yes. He's here. Come on in. Come in."  
John swept his eyes across the room. He had on bright red glasses to help him with the case. He saw a woman bouncing one naked baby and another woman bouncing another naked baby. But no George in sight. "How old are they?"  
"Three days," Amber answered. Jack walked in just as she said. "Oh, babe, You're home. This is, um, John and Officer Greg."  
"Nice to meet you," Jack said.  
"You as well," John answered and shook hands with the man. "Uh, why are they naked? Are they not cold?"  
Amber shot her glare to Norma. "My sister in law was supposed to be getting them clothes. Oh, they just spit up over everything. The both of them," she sighed. "But what are you gonna do?"  
"Did you just get back from the hospital?"  
She shook her head and held the baby a little higher to show the man it’s finally content face. "No, no. I decided to have a home birth. And it was a lot earlier than we expected."  
"They are small."  
"Yes, they are," she agreed while handing the baby she had to her sister to help her dress it in Misty's clothes. Misty was the youngest of all the kids. "A little early, but we got everything checked out already and they're doing great. Jack and I are going to be able to get them more proper clothes, today. We were actually going to go when he got here, but then so did you. So now we can wait until after you leave. Oh, we need diapers and bottles and clothes. We planned on being able to wait a couple weeks longer, and I guess you can say we're the ones who wait till the last minute."  
"Not a good idea with babies," he commented.  
"Oh, right, I know. I totally know what you're saying. But they're now our fifth and sixth children. And we're actually borrowing money to be able to go out, today."  
"Who are your other kids?"  
"Well this is, um, Rob, right behind you," she said. He turned around a jumped a little.  
"Hey, Rob," John said. "How old are you?"  
"Oh, he can't-." She cut herself off and brought up a hand to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry. Hormones. I'm very emotional, right now. But, um. He can't talk. He's twenty-two and he was in a horrific car accident when he was fifteen. Severe brain damage. Sometimes I can get him to answer to his name, but he really just does not know what is going on. He used to be such a bright kid. He was so smart and talented and funny. He wanted to be a, a director."  
"Oh," he said quietly, looking down on the boy. His face was hollow and scarred. One eye looked almost blind.  
"It's ok," Jack murmured to her ear. "He's still happy. Just in a different way."  
"I know," she sighed. "But when he tries to talk to us, it's not even like he's speaking English. And his legs are fused together near his hips, so he can't walk. We're trying to get him on crutches, but he has a lot of trouble and just doesn't like them. He can tell us when he's hungry or thirty, but do you see how skinny he is? He was on a feeding tube for a while, but we finally got him off it. They think he'll have to go back on, maybe permanently because he is just never hungry."  
The thing looked up to the new person standing there. He decided to call this one Yellow, after its shirt. The other would be Blue. He rubbed his head along Blue's leg and settles his arms on its foot. It was even better doing it to another thing kind of like him than it was rubbing along the wall or crate, because Blue even made himself small and scratched his head.  
Amber laughed. "He's still very affectionate," she said while they watched it try to rub their faces together. "But he doesn't quite get personal space. He's very gentle, though."  
"And so this is Rob?" John asked. "Rob...?"  
"Oh, Robert George Ross."  
"Ok, and we need George Ryan Ross."  
"Right, ok. I'll just warn you that he's, you know. He's got a learning disability similar to Rob's. He was in an accident, too, but he's in much better shape than Robert is."  
"Ok, and what happened to George?" he asked. He didn't remember a mention of any disabilities, which he usually got, but he trusted this woman.  
"He was just a baby and his mother, God bless her soul, dropped him. It-. She felt terrible. She could hardly live with herself when we found out what had happened because of the fall."  
"Do you know how she dropped him?"  
"I didn't want to ask. She's passed on, now, and I would never ask. George, as in George's father, might know, but he isn't here, right now. He's had a lot of trouble since his wife's recent passing and he doesn't like to leave his house, much."  
"Ok. Well, how about you get George junior? He's here, isn't he?"  
"He is. But his father was trying to do something fun. Because ever since his mom, to him, just disappeared Ryan-. The son goes by Ryan. Ryan hasn't been the same and he hasn't been so close to his father. So George decided to take Ryan out to do something he really shouldn't have. They went and played in the mud, or something like that. Oh, but he just wanted to bond. Though, now Ryan smells like a sewer and we have to convince him to let us bathe him. He doesn't like anybody bathing him but his parents. So I'll get him, but he is dirty."  
Ryan stumbled inside and was led up to a man he'd never seen before.  
"Ryan, this is John. He's from child protective services and he helps people. Isn't that neat? He helps kids in trouble."  
They held a long stare before Ryan dropped his hand and tried crushing his skull between his hands. He groaned from deep in his throat, not even caring to think that Amber was standing right next him.  
"Oh, I know you don't like new people, but you can't do that, RyRy. It isn't polite."  
"I'm gonna fucking kill her," he growled so low and quietly it disguised that he had any words at all. "I told her not to."  
Amber pulled down one of Ryan's arms to get his attention so she could hand him a baby, just for the fun. "Here, do you want to hold him?"  
Ryan almost dropped the baby boy the second he was handed to him, but held on. He could feel himself making a connection with him- it- when it smiled up at him and swung its arms. He didn't think babies that young could smile, or even move, for that matter, but he watched its face change expressions. It got a serious look that was all too adorable for Ryan to hold back a smile at.  
"Aw, how precious."  
Ryan bounced the baby when he started to make discontent noises. This was apparently much too advanced for a kid with severe brain damage, so the baby was promptly taken from him and rested again in Amber's arms.  
Rob pulled himself over to Ryan and looked up boldly, after his baby was safely away from his target. He was allowed to look at Ryan, but that was it. And he assumed he could look at the two new people just arrived because he still hasn't been told not to. He raised a fist and hit Ryan as hard as he could in the knee. He pulled against somebody's hands to push Ryan's hips back and make him fall to the ground. Rob struggled and tried to pull his way free, but the arms around him kept getting tighter and tighter.  
When he hit the floor, Ryan didn't dare get back up. He pulled his legs in and covered his head with his arms. He could hear Rob growling and his nails scrabbling on the wood floors as he tried to get at him.  
"Robert," Amber scolded. "Rob, look at me. You can't do that."  
"How often does he lunge like that?" John asked only after they had Rob calmed down and boxed in by their legs.  
"Not often. But it's hard to teach him not to. He's just been having a bad few days since the babies were born. Lots of screaming and crying, you know. But usually he's very quiet and cuddly, even."  
"Did Rob give Ryan his bruise on his neck?"  
"Uh, no. He didn't. It, um. He wasn't bruised last weekend, didn't I say that?"  
"No."  
"Oh. Well, he wasn't. I don't actually know how he got it. George just told me he came home from school with it, one day and that he's trying to take care of it with the school."  
"How about this cut on his jaw? Do you know how this happened? Come here, Ryan," John called. He got Ryan standing next to him again so he could point to where he witnessed George had attacked him. "Do you know he got this?"  
"Oh, I think he actually tripped, if I'm not mistaken. He can be a little clumsy. But I don't talk to George too much anymore, and he would know where he got everything."  
"Do you think maybe your bother could have started abusing his son? Maybe since his wife's death."  
"Oh, no. I don't think that's it at all," she said. "I think somebody got the wrong impression, seeing his bruise, you know. And they called you. Which is good. I'm glad to see this is being investigated, but it just isn't child abuse."  
"Well, what about his limp? He limps."  
"He does. He always has. His motor skills are impaired."  
"Alright," he said. John turned to the door, and while doing so, spotted the perfect little table sitting between the door and the couch. He had little cameras he was to stick around the house is neutral places. Like the living room. "How about just me and you head outside and talk? It'll only be a couple of minutes and its standard, required, procedure that I talk to you and Ryan."  
"Ok. That's fine."  
"Officer Greg will wait in here."  
Amber stood in front of the house while the man faced her. He was looking down and reading off of a clipboard.  
"Ok, how long have you been having Ryan over your house? For weekends?"  
"For weekends? About six months, a little less. Since his mother's passing."  
"Before that?"  
"He was over here all the time. But now we take him to give his poor, grieving father a rest. George and, um, Delilah used to come over with him, too. But now we mostly only see George for our holidays and birthdays and things."  
"Ok. How long has he had the bruise?"  
"I don't know, honestly."  
"And the scratch?"  
"Which-. Oh, I don't know about that, either."  
"Ok, you said Rob has trouble eating. What about Ryan? He's even thinner."  
"Oh, yes," she said. "He hasn't been eating much since his mother's death. George is doing his best and taking him to doctors and seeing if they can get anything done, like a feeding tube, maybe, but they're still figuring things out."  
"How did his mother die?"  
"A car accident."  
"The same one Rob was in?"  
"Oh, yes, actually. Yes, that was the one. It was horrific."  
"Ok, and Rob is how old? Again?"  
"He's eighteen years old."  
An almost sinister smile grew on John's lips. "Perfect. Thank you. I'll go get Ryan and talk to him and then we'll be on our way."  
"And then that's it?"  
"No. As standard procedures go, we'll be back tomorrow with a warrant to search your house."  
"What's going on, bud?"  
Ryan figured his last second act was fooling them the way they spoke to him. "Hi," he said quietly.  
"Can you tell me how you got your bruise? There on your neck?"  
Maybe fessing up wouldn't be so bad. He was always at least half terrified when it was threatened to call, but now he could see the people contacted. They didn't look half as scary as he thought. They didn't coo at him like his guidance counselor and obviously only pretend to care. They were very real and he felt safe with them, outside and away from his family. Jail time would do his father good, anyway. Force him to quit the drink that was slowly killing him. And he wouldn't give the slightest of a fuck if all of his further family suddenly died a slow and painful death of a house fire.  
"Ryan, what happened to your neck?"  
If he didn't tell them, and did fool them, he would definitely have to step back inside after waving them goodbye and say hello to the whip. And the crate. And the stick. And the hunger and taunting and thirst and the being uncomfortable solely because he was dirty.  
"Ryan? Can you hear me?"  
"My friends, they all said if I called you guys you would help me."  
John nodded. "Yes," he said. "That's what we're trying to do right now."  
"I was always too scared. I like- I love my dad even though he hits me. Even though he drinks. And I want to see my boyfriend, still. But you guys are gonna take me away."  
"You'll still be able to see your boyfriend, bud."  
"Do you promise?"  
"Yes. I promise."  
"Will my dad go to jail?"  
"He'll go to jail."  
"Who called you?" he suddenly asked.  
"I couldn't tell you if I knew."  
His teeth grit and his nose wrinkled. "I know who fucking did it and I told her not to."  
"Well be glad she did. Now we're here to help."  
Ryan started rubbing his eyes, though he wasn't crying yet. "Can you have alcohol in jail?" He said no. "So he'll have to quit? That'll be good for him. He can't keep drinking like this. He'll be better if he gets arrested."  
"He will."  
Ryan nodded and sniffled. "I was too scared, before. To call. To let anyone else. I thought you guys would come and would be like them and would just rip me away and hold me in a room by myself, forever."  
"It isn't like that. We're working to get you out of here. We're gonna make you a lot happier. I know what's going on and no human should ever, ever experience a thing these people are putting you through."  
"I'm just a dog," he mumbled. "I'm not human, here."  
"That's why we're here to help."  
"My friends told me when you guys take me you would give me water. And let me take a shower or a bath. And that you would feed me," he jumped.  
He let a smile fall on his lips and nodded. "Yes, all that comes with being treated like a person. Or any living thing."  
"And they said you guys won't hurt me like they do. When I'm bad. But I don't believe them."  
Ryan almost sounded like he was trying to make a deal. The man chuckled, in a mix of nervousness and amusement. "You should, Ryan. What they do is wrong. We're going to get this all sorted out. Get you in a children's home. You won't be hurt if you're bad."  
"Well then what do they do? They have to do something to the bad kids."  
"They would tell you you're wrong. The kids might get put in a timeout, or something."  
"How should you know? Do you work there?"  
"Yes, I do. I help care for the kids and I come out on occasional calls. You would come to my facility and be roomed with some kids your age. We usually don't ever need discipline for the older kids, but we might just have them stay in their rooms by themselves. Little kids get put in the corner. It's a very small facility."  
Ryan rubbed along the front of his neck while he spoke. "Are you going to take me today?"  
He sighed heavily and shook his head, looking to the ground, almost in shame. "No, we can't."  
"But I thought you were going to help me. I'm hungry. I want to change my clothes- they said you would give me different clothes, too. I haven't taken these off in three years."  
"We're going to make sure you can find a home where you have more clothes than you ever have."  
"I only want one new set. I can buy it myself, I have the money. I just was trying to save it. Will you take me with you today? You don't have to spend any money on me, I promise. I only haven't used it all yet because I've been saving it. For in case I need it. But if you take me I can spend what I have and I can get another job."  
"We need to get someone in higher charge than me to approve this. To allow us to get what we need to get you out. This is only the first check in."  
"How many are there going to be?" he asked, not able to help himself starting to get a whine in his voice. "Just lie. Please? Tell them you approved it. Fake a signature. Say it was urgent. Tell them I'm willing. Please? I want to go. Now."  
He could see Ryan's heart breaking. "It isn't that simple. It should be, but it isn't."  
"Please? I swear, sir, I'll be good. I won't hurt anybody. I know I smell, but. Please? Seriously, dude? Are you a joke?"  
"Very soon."  
"Is this a joke?" he spat. "You're not really here to protect children, are you? You're here to mock me. I'm already seventeen, how long is it going to take? Years? Then I'm not a kid and you can't help me. Come on, sir. I'm begging you. Don't make me walk back in there. You know, I've been terrified for years to reach out for help. This has been going on nearly six!" he hissed. "This same shit over and over and over again! My friends, they threaten to call you if I don't. And I threaten to kill them! And now I'm glad I went with my gut. I don't know why you're even here! They tell me when you show up you'll take me away and give me a bed! But you're only here asking questions and then going? Just like that? Don't you care? I've just told you I changed my mind. I want help, now. And now I can't have it. You know, I don't ask for much in life! And now I want help out of this mess and you won't do it? The simplest thing in the world! You could drop me on the side of the road, I don't actually give a shit! Just don't let them have me back in there. No, don't you fucking touch me!" He grabbed the man's wrist when he tried putting a hand up to quiet him, and shoved him off. "My skin is permanently purple from bruises. You know, my teacher found out yesterday and gave me my first real meal, today, in six years! She's doing more than you are! You're only trying to make fun of me! Like everyone else!"  
"Ryan!" he finally snapped. "Ryan, just calm down."  
"Don't tell me to calm down when all I'm asking for is a seat in your huge fucking van! Or are you saving them all for the other children?"  
"Ryan, just stop. We're going to get you out within the week, ok? I have a meal you can have right now, but I cannot take you from here without getting your case approved. The latest will be Wednesday, but I promise you it'll be before that."  
Ryan was reduced to nothing but swaying, half angry and half lost, while he sniffled with tears rolling down his face. "So I have to go back in there? You don't understand, man. Did you see those babies?"  
"So?"  
"You don't understand, man. I can't do this. Not again. I'm so tired."  
"I understand," he said calmly. "I do."  
"That's insulting."  
"But you just have to stay strong for a few more days and then we can have you out of there."  
Ryan shoved his way between them to find the wall of the house so he could slide down it.  
"Why don't you lift up your shirt a little bit so I can see if you're hurt anywhere else, then I'll go get you one of those meals, ok?"  
Ryan nodded and sat tall to tuck the hem of his sweater under his arms. Silently, he turned for them and showed them his back before the man left for his van.  
Ryan was beginning to think the only reason he did so well with keeping any weight off was because there was nothing to put it on. He always kept well with his regular eating on Sundays, but excepting those times, there seemed to be a pattern of him seeing food offered to him and then pushing thoughts of consequences to the back of his head. He was telling himself again that there were plenty of reasons he should eat the entire thing in one go, and he didn't even know what was in the bag, yet. He was telling himself that he needed to eat it, or it would be too suspicious with the CPS man. He needed it to get through the beatings waiting for him. The thing was, Ryan had no self control and was probably going to dread the day food was set in front of him every day. But as soon as he was finished eating and could actually rip his thoughts away from the food already threatening him.  
"Here, I've got some crackers and cookies you can eat while I heat up this main part, ok? It's called an MRE. Meals ready to eat and it's what the soldiers eat. You just pour this salt water in here and it'll heat up this for you, but you can eat them cold, too."  
He didn't really care. Ryan let his eyes fall on the open bag in the man's hands. "No, thanks."  
"Ryan, eat it."  
"I don't fucking want to eat it," Ryan said. He sat forward more and tried to look dangerous. "Get it out of my face, already."  
"Look, I know you're upset because I can't take you, today, so why don't you eat this now so you feel a little better, ok? I promise we'll get you soon."  
"It's not about that, I don't fucking want it."  
"You're starving. Just-."  
"I'm not fucking starving," Ryan hissed. He wanted to shout, but feared they would hear him from inside. "I'm not hungry, I'm not starving, and I don't want to eat your motherfucking crackers. I'm not upset about that, I hope I die in there before you can come back to get me, anyway."  
"Ryan, I'm sorry. I-."  
"Don't you have fucking questions to ask me? Or can I re-enter hell, now?"  
"This'll be quick," he said. "How did you get the bruise on your neck?"  
"From my dad."  
"Why?"  
"I don't fucking know."  
"The, um, that cut on your jaw." He already knew this one. Not only was he there, the incident was recorded and the bleeding cut was clearly documented as he ran away.  
"I was leaving for school, sir. I saw a tinted car and I thought I saw someone sitting up and watching, so I stood to look. I had woke him up that morning by mistake and then I left the door open. So he was already angry and he hates when the door is open. He came out and threw a bottle at me, but missed, so he picked up a broken piece and swung it at me."  
"What's it like at home?"  
He shrugged. "Bad. Dirty."  
"Ok. Thanks, Ryan. Now what we're going to do is come back tomorrow with a warrant and we'll search the house."  
"So you can get a warrant to search the house I'm already telling you is run by sociopaths, but you can't get me out?"  
"It's going to be soon, I promise. We're going to get you out a soon as we possibly can. Ok?"  
He shrugged again.  
Ryan was helped back to his feet and led up to the door. He smiled again when they walked in and tried to stay closer to the man. He hated how selfish John was being, but he knew the man was the only thing keeping him safe.  
Amber squeezed Ryan's wrist as tightly as she could. He had been outside a long time. They waved the goodbyes together, standing in the door.  
Ryan stepped back while she was closing the door, accidentally knocking the side table a little. She was closing it slowly and watching the van disappear from the window. As soon as it was out of site, she was on him. His shoulders were grabbed and he was thrown to the floor with the entire woman's might. She stomped on him, forcing him to roll over and see all the children watching and waiting quietly. They liked to watch the show, but joining in was not allowed. They could get in trouble, too. This was Amber's fight.  
"Take off your jacket!"  
He nodded quickly and sat up just enough to slide the sleeves off. He did it slowly and gently so nothing would fall out before he tossed it into his crate. He knew what was coming. And he didn't need to be told to take off his sweatshirt, as well.  
Misty squealed when she saw what was in her mother's hands. They pretended it was a riding crop pretty often, but her mother said the only reason it wasn't was because this could teach Ryan better. The rope was long and black and Amber said it was easier to use than a short, stiff stick while Ryan was on the ground and they were standing.  
Amber walked her daughter back before turning to let the whip fall. Ryan was prone and starting to curl in on himself.  
All the groaning was going to burn a hole in the back of his throat, he was sure. He couldn't scream. He couldn't run. Though, the only thing holding him there, trying to ward off his flight reaction was him trying to grip the hardwood floor.  
"Why does it have to take its shirt off?"  
Amber twisted to smile at Misty, her brightest, favourite protégé. Misty called Ryan 'it' the most often and was always helping her mother find better ways to discipline him. "Because," she said, out of breath. "He's going to have to go back to school on Monday and he already has one rip through that jacket from this. We don't want him to go back in shreds, or some of his teachers might find something wrong."  
"There's nothing wrong, though."  
"I know," she sighed and swung her weapon again. He was already in a puddle. "But a lot of people think there's something wrong with this. Most people just don't understand that it has to come to this, sometimes. They think we should coddle him and, and kiss him when he's bad."  
"Then he doesn't learn because he's too stupid and bad."  
"Exactly, baby."  
"Can I try?"  
She smiled again, this time at the uproar of the children trying to push Misty back so they could have a go. "You can all try," she promised. "But Misty goes first."  
Ryan waited silently. He was kicked when he didn't react to a tickle on his lower back so he assumed it was Misty's failed shot. He was kicked again at nothing, but then it was probably the girl trying again. He had lost a lot of feeling, on his back, especially. But he felt the next. The end of the whip sat heavy on his spine and slid off. He groaned, hoping to make the girl think she had done it. But then he was whipped by an adult.  
Misty waited till everyone had gotten their turn and her mother was coiling the whip. "Can I do the buzzy thing?"  
"What buzzy thing? Are you talking about something on that?"  
She nodded quickly. "Yeah," she said and held out her hands like she was holding a gun. "The buzzy thing that makes him stop. Coy told me about it. Can I do it?"  
"Oh! The Taser! Of course. Earl, go get it."  
Ryan whimpered. They were all trying to line up, but Amber had to tell them that this could only be done once so they wouldn't accidentally almost kill him, again. She promised them they could do it, eventually.  
"Hold him down, you dog."  
He was almost crushed when they placed Rob with his hands on Ryan's neck and his knees digging into Ryan's own. He knew 'Rob' was already angry with him and was made sure he knew when the boy bounced, digging into him while the mother and daughter worked on their gun.  
Amber slowly applied pressure to the little finger on the trigger until the two wires shot out and embedded themselves in Ryan's chest.  
"Ow!" Misty cried, pushing her finger up to her mother.  
Startled, Rob hopped off of Ryan when he started to tremble and shake.  
Ryan lost any control of all of his muscles and started shaking violently the second the other boy was off him. He could hear his teeth chattering loudly in his hear while he was beginning to choke on the saliva sliding to his throat.  
Amber returned to Ryan being dramatic and blue. She was sure he was shaking on purpose, but he was still blue. So she kicked him to roll him over to his side and watched to colour return.  
Ryan could feel blood still oozing from his back and now spit falling from his lips. It was soon over, but he still couldn't move. No problem, though, Jack- Amber's boyfriend of forever- threw him into the crate and locked the door. He landed facing away from the door with a hand resting on his neck. He did wish he could shift off the button of his jacket to move so he wasn't sitting so heavy on one slice in his arm, but his fingers were still twitching without his control.  
He might say it was even a little over an hour before he dared trying to move anything other than his fingers that were still hardly listening, maybe a little more scared at what was going to happen next than if it might hurt. He pushed himself up and fell down, but pushed himself up again. He struggled to get all his clothes back on in the tight space while his aunt, Melody, left the table and returned to him with a wet rag. She opened the door and got back to her huge dinner that he didn't even have to make, this time.  
Ryan knew exactly what to do. He twitched and smashed against an inside wall on his way trying to get out. Somebody threw a butter knife at him. He ignored it, as it hadn't even touched him, and went on to find the nearest puddle of blood to sop up. Rob almost dropped a bucket half full of water next to him, that he was carrying in his mouth. He knew even before he looked at it that it would be scolding hot. They had tricked him the first couple times, when he had pushed his whole, bloody hand in it, only young and wanting the mess off quickly. Blood didn't faze him anymore.  
It hadn't been long, maybe thirty minutes of him trying to lift the red stain, before somebody let the big pit bull back inside. He curled tightly in on himself and had to wait the bite out. The dog locked its jaw and refused to let go for anything. He pushed and he growled and hissed at it, but it wouldn't go and he couldn't even scream. The drunkards all laughed so loudly that a couple of the kids that all had been sent up to bed came down to see what they were missing. They must have been especially drunk that night, for it took them ages to get bored and rip the dog off to put it in its cage with a treat.  
Finally, he had finished cleaning the floor as they finished cleaning their plates. He got an old hoody of Coy's to wrap around his side, where the dog had bitten him, but it helped the pain none. He tried to forget about it as he headed back to his crate after getting rid of the bloody bucket.  
"Where are you going?" Jack asked, slurring voice booming. "You've got some work to do, thing."  
Ryan found his feet and bowed to him. "Yes, sir." Maybe he just had to clean the kitchen.  
*******************  
Amber carried out the twins stacked one on the other in her arm and held a hammer by the head. "Ready?"  
The room shook when Ryan fell to his knees. The adults all shifted at the table to see and even Rob was still present, sitting silently on his knees in front of the stairs.  
"Please," he begged. "Please don't make me do it. I'm begging you."  
"Oh, you don't want to?" she asked. "You don't want to do it, thing? Why not? Isn't it fun?"  
"Please," he cried. "Please, miss. Ma'am, I'm begging you."  
"Well if you don't do it, what am I supposed to do with them?"  
Ryan couldn't help but notice they weren't crying. He prayed they were dead already, but knew Amber must have fed them just enough to keep them alive but lethargic. "Miss, won't you put them up for adoption? Please, miss. Just-."  
"Shut up!" she shouted with a kick to his wounded side. "Shut up and do what you're told."  
His sniffling died down as one baby, a boy, was placed gently in front of him. "Isn't that man going to come back with a warrant tomorrow? What will he think when they're gone?"  
"SIDS."  
His hands shook dangerously as he was handed a hammer. He never needed a hammer, before. "Can't I just-."  
No shouting made him stop talking, that time. He quietened down as he felt the familiar touch of a gun barrel to his head.  
The gun was held by Jack father of the twins, even if not biologically. "Do it, you dog. I will shoot."  
The hammer was heavy, almost too heavy to lift, and cold in his shaking hands. He set it down and turned the quiet, but smiling, baby over to lie on his stomach. It made a content gurgling noise, making Ryan think that Amber might have even just fed them.  
"Hurry up."  
His head parted from the gun just enough for him to shake it. "I can't."  
"You've done it before."  
"Please, miss. Sir. I can take them. I'll take them home with me and find a place for them."  
"You think a baby can live with you? In that shit hole?"  
"No. No, miss. I'll take them with me and I'll find a place they can have."  
"Oh, no. They don't get to have anything. Even if we did let them live, don't you think they would get what you do?"  
He could have sworn she was trying to make him feel better about killing them. "But, miss, I could find them somewhere else. That way you don't need dead babies, and you wouldn't need another mouth to feed."  
"What's wrong with dead babies?"  
Ryan looked down at the one laying there, soft head to the side to suck on its fingers. He felt the gun come back and lifted the hammer.  
"Oh, what now?" Amber nearly roared when the hammer fell down again. "Thing, I'm tired."  
"I can't do it," he said. "I can't do it." He had never been smiled at or held the other ones, before.  
"Ok, get up," Jack ordered and pulled the scrap of thing up to its shaking feet. He walked it over to the back door and opened it. The grass took his first shot, to make sure the gun was working, and to make sure it knew he was serious.  
Ryan fell to his knees in the frame of the door and hunched over to cry. He wasn't supposed to cry ever, but what would it matter if he were going to die, anyway? "Please let me take them," he begged through his closing throat. "Please let me take them. Please let me take them." He was too caught up and could hardly think to say anything else.  
Rob inched his way forward, the only one not turned to watch through the scary open door, and found the other baby lying on the floor. He picked it up carefully and moved his hand to stroke its cold head. When it smiled, he smiled too. Rob was quick to tuck it under his shirt and zip his tight hoody so he could carry it up to his room.  
He wrapped it in just his hoody to keep it warm and kissed its head once so he could return to the downstairs and not be missed. He wanted to take care of it like he got to take care of the two before.  
Ryan rocked up and down in the tight fit of the door, wedged by his knees and feet against their own sides of the frame. "Please."  
Jack drunkenly shoved his gun to Ryan's head while it was up, but fired while it was down. "You piece of shit!" he shouted, only when he noticed he had missed.  
The fire in his ear was the only thing that could make Ryan stop. He felt the heat of the shot and the warmth of the barrel when it was pressed to his head, again. "I'll do it. I'll do it."  
"Jack let him up," Norma drawled.  
"No. He-."  
"Babe," Amber said only after taking her flute down from her lips. "He's gonna do it, babe."  
Ryan shared a look with Rob, one he didn't know how to feel about, and knelt down in front of the baby. It was something too mature for him to share with a boy like Rob, who he could only guess played all day with all the crayons and glue he saw him carry up to his room.  
He didn't have much time to think more about it when the hammer was shoved impatiently into his hand, again. He set the broadest side against the baby's head and made it cry out just as the gun was nudged to him again.  
Rob watched on silently to see the spill from the head slowly seep to cover the floor. He didn't like it much, not like everyone else.  
Ryan pulled the hammer up again and again when the baby cried and kicked after his first blow. "Please," he shouted as he did it, no longer sure if he was just seeing things or not. "Please," he cried.  
Rob only laughed with them when he realized it was the other baby they were looking for.  
"Did it crawl away?" Earl asked under Ryan's screaming.  
"It can't crawl!"  
Ryan hunched over the baby and screamed into the ground as his nose touched something warm and wet. He shook and screamed and screamed some more. Not even the kicking on his hip could make him stop.  
Rob pulled himself into a corner he could peek out of but not be noticed in and waited for them to give up and go to bed. It got to be just Ryan left, but he wanted to wait a little longer.  
"I'll leave this light on for you," Amber slurred. The only reason she wasn't drunk like the rest of them the second he walked in was because she almost had too many DUIs already. Once was more than enough, but one more and her license would be taken. Then she couldn't get to her job to get money to get more alcohol. "So you can see the baby's brains. Just leave the body under the table and we'll put it away together, tomorrow."  
"Yes, miss. Thank you, miss."  
He could only stare into its open eyes. Its dead eyes.  
Ryan dropped the bloody rag in the bloody water, no longer sure if he could trust his eyes telling him that waiting so long left the floor stained. Hopefully it wouldn't matter too much because this man was going to get him out soon enough.  
He took the bucket to dump on the already blood stained wood just outside the back door, where all the bloody water went. The bucket was left just outside the door, as he was always told, and he crept quietly back to the table, in hopes not to wake Gizmo, the dog. He looked down on one plate with at least half their chicken left. He needed what he could get, right? He turned down the food from that John, earlier and he even exercised during the week.  
Ryan looked all around himself, even under the table just to be sure, before he dug long nails into the soft, cold meat and started to lift it up. Just as he was done flipping it over, a bed creaked, and then a door. By the time feet hit the steps, he was back on the ground by where the blood used to be. Turning, he saw it was his aunt Norma who was standing with one arm stretched up the wall and with a hip pushed out. He bowed his head to her and returned to studying the floor, realizing too late that he no longer had a bucket.  
"What was that banging around?"  
He looked back to her, bowing his head again, and said, "I heard no banging, myself, miss."  
"Nothing?"  
"No, ma'am."  
"Have you finished over there?" she asked, picking up an empty beer bottle left on the table while he stuttered out a 'yes.' She laughed lightly as she sauntered over to him, waving him back to the floor with a couple of lazy fingers.  
Ryan dropped back down and waited for the bottle to break over his head. That's all that could have been coming.  
Norma smiled when he looked up, big brown eyes clearly full of fear. She took her cigarette to put it out on the back of his neck while taking the time to admire how he cowered under her, on his fours, only waiting for the discipline. "Are you sure you got it all?"  
"Yes, ma'am." It was better to be confident than humble.  
She laughed again, grabbing the table just in time before she fell, still awfully drunk. She raised her arm and brought it down quickly over his head. "Well, I haven't done that in some time, now have I?"  
Ryan tried to hold back the moan while he carefully lifted his hand from under some shattered green glass to rub his head. He shook it, "No, ma'am," he said.  
"That was fun. Now clean it up, dog."  
"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled while he started to stand. She let him, but blocked his way when he faced the kitchen.  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
"The broom? To get the broom and dustpan, miss?"  
"No, no, no," she almost cooed, setting her hand on his scrawny chest to push back.  
"I was allowed, last time, miss."  
Her fists balled, but she shook out her hands instead of bringing them up. "Is there something wrong with you? Did I hit you too hard? I just told you no, now clean it up, you son of a bitch."  
"Yes, ma'am."  
As he was setting his hand on the neat pile of glass to start to grab it, her foot came down and ground his hand like a cigarette. He couldn't help the whining, as he could feel one piece stand out from the rest. "Please," he started. "Please, miss."  
"You've been bad, thing. Getting the CPS in here, being dirty, asking for things even after I've told you no. I could go on, really."  
"Please," he cried, grabbing his wrist just to try to pull his hand from under her. She was fully on him, bouncing. He gasped and tried even harder, not sure knocking her down to get her off wouldn't be worth it just to free his hand from being punctured. "Get off," he ordered, half waiting for a hand to come down and strike him.  
"Oh, what? You can take a whipping? A Taser? A cage? Starvation? But not glass? Man-up, Ryan."  
That was probably the first time she had ever called him by his name, but he had hardly heard. "Miss, it's going through my hand. Please, get off, it's through my hand."  
She only stopped giggling and got off when she felt a little poke on her heel. Ryan lifted his hand, but closed his own eyes at the site of a piece of the glass, red on top of his hand, and green underneath it, running right through the muscle next to his thumb, between it and his index finger.  
"What do you do now, then?"  
Jaw locking tighter and tighter, he was more worried about breathing than getting it out. This was probably even worse than the holes the dog left in him or the slices deep in his flesh from the whip, that he only hoped would close.  
"Come on, Ryan."  
He whined and brought his hand back to his lap, with tears rushing down his face to wet his fingers. He didn't want it out, at this point, He would much rather it just stay, even if his skin had to heal around it so it would be there for good.  
"Hey, dog!"  
"Yes, miss," he whimpered, taking the bottom to try and get it out the way it went in.  
She slapped him hard over his head when he started to make a noise too loud. "Shut up!" she shouted, prompting him to give her his hand. She rolled her eyes, but took the red half and ripped it up. As soon as his hand was free from her, he hugged it and fell to his side, crying. She kicked him in his stomach to get him to stop, but it only made it worse. So she tried again until he was done. "I guess I have to take teeth now. Ugh, I'll do it the morning. You know crying is not allowed."  
"Can I have a rag, miss?" he asked, brows furrowed and head tipped while he looked up at her. "To, to tie-."  
She lost the lust she had for him and slapped his face hard enough to knock him down into her pile of glass. "You can have nothing, dog! Why should you even think you deserve a rag?"  
"So I don't bleed over everything, miss. Miss, there's a hole in my hand."  
"Are you complaining? You're complaining!"  
"No!" he gasped, shooting to sit upright. All the glass he had piled neatly scattered when she shoved him down. "I'm not complaining, merely stating. I don't want to stain anything, miss." A deep groan played out in his throat when she rolled him to his back by her foot and dropped a heavy stomp on his chest.  
"Clean up this glass and do the dishes! I have had about enough of you, today! You're a horrible child! How you are still such a huge disgrace after all we've done, I'll never know."  
He quieted his snivelling while he pushed himself up on his good hand. For that, he got another kick that knocked him back down. "Stop being dramatic," she barked. "You're too big a complainer. All you've got is a little cut and you're going to go and act as if you've lost your whole hand? You are the single most disrespectful piece of shit I have ever laid my eyes on, you know. You deserve everything you get."  
He used both his hands this time, but was careful not to stress anywhere near the hole. After finally getting all the glass back in a pile, he grabbed a handful as quickly as he could so she would not have the time to step on his hand, again.  
"Where do you think you're going, now?" She took a wide step to the side to cut off his path to the kitchen, again.  
"The garbage can, miss."  
"Oh, no," she started, shoulders rising and fists balling. "Last time you put glass in the garbage it made a hole and the bag spilled everywhere."  
He remembered clearly. He was the one that picked it all up, frequently stopped by a mischievous kid running by to shove his face in the wasted, rotting food. Now, Ryan swore he would never let a single morsel into the trash from any meal. That is, from the meals of his family.  
"What are you doing? Just staring? Where did Grandma Sue have you put it last week?"  
"Well-. In my pockets, miss, but one of my teachers found a piece in there and...." He trailed off when he saw her face, which he was not even supposed to see. He was supposed to only look at the ground, not as good as the rest of them who were allowed to pick up their heads, but her silence worried him. He got a hard slap in the face right away.  
"Well that's your own damn fault, isn't it?"  
"Yes, ma'am."  
"For not getting it all out. Now I am not going to have you putting another hole in the bag only so it can rip and spill out all over the nicely cleaned floors."  
"Yes, miss," he mumbled on his way back to the pile. She assisted him by kicking him down, probably at the mumbling.  
By the time Ryan was finished, Norma was calm. She was relaxed enough to appreciate him on the ground, being so obedient. She watched him pick up all of the glass with scarred skin, scarred by her hand. Once he was done, he had trouble getting back to his feet, but she enjoyed his little show of weakness. "Dishes," she snapped shortly when he was up. He only nodded.  
Ryan gathered all of the plates, setting the only one with chicken on the top every time. There was no way he was going to be getting any table scraps with her following to watch. She hopped up on the counter with a glass of wine and a cigarette, having him refresh each one until all the dishes were done, dried, and put away.  
"Good job," she said huskily.  
Ryan lifted his head, surprised, and turned his head to look behind himself when she was looking right at him.  
She took his chin and gently turned his face back to her. "I'm talking to you."  
He bowed his head and took a nervous step back. "I-. Thank you, miss."  
"We can go back, now."  
Ryan nodded quickly and led her back to his cage. He bowed to her before reaching for the door of his cage, but she stopped him as he started to crouch down. His first thought was that she either needed something else, or that she needed to discipline him.  
Norma shoved his back against the wall and sized him up. Even their heights were a perfect match. She brought her face closer to his still and let their noses brush.  
Ryan stood as still as he could. Maybe she'd had a glass of wine too many and was too out of it to beat him. He thought that for only a few seconds before their lips touched and she pulled his in.  
Norma gasped when she was shoved back and held her breast, where he pushed. She laughed and advanced again and again, but each time Ryan was able to stiffen his arms between them. Only after her fourth attempt, she took his hand and placed it on her own body.  
Ryan ripped his hand back and shoved her for the hundredth time. She was only laughing and going at it again and again. "Stop," he snapped at her. She slapped him hard and continued to giggle while adjusting her chest. She stopped suddenly and reached for him.  
"You fucking paedophile get off me," he spat. Even in his adrenaline fuelled panic, his arms were growing tired and each attempt to get her away was more and more feeble, however urgent he grew.  
"Paedophile? Hardly," she slurred. "18? 19?"  
"17. But it doesn't matter. Isn't your husband sleeping upstairs?"  
She grunted and rolled her eyes. "You're better, baby. Come here. What's the matter?"  
Ryan could only resist her kiss by rolling his head when she pinned his wrists to the wall. She let go of one and grabbed him, making him stand on his toes and toss his head back. "Fuck off," he hissed. She didn't even answer this time, not even to get mad. She took his hand and used it to touch herself.  
"I will scream," he growled, getting his hands back to push her shoulders. "And your family will find you jumping on the dog."  
"You won't scream," she breathed on his neck while feeling down his back and running her fingers lightly up his inner thighs. She rest her cheek on his shoulder and tried sucking on his neck until he was able to push her off one last time.  
Ryan panted while he stared. She didn't advance, again.  
"I'll see you, tomorrow," she murmured.  
Ryan watched her go, unable to move even when he heard a door close and a bed creak. He had to wait what felt like hours, though was maybe only a minute, to collapse and lay in a crumple on the hardwood he stained with tears instead of blood.  
Rob crawled out of his hiding place and pulled himself over to Ryan. He wished he could have returned to his baby sooner than what he was now, but he still had things to do. He was mad first because he hadn't feet well or full in the past few days, and a little mad that Ryan had smashed open his other baby's head, even if it was entertaining to watch while it happened.  
Ryan pushed away whoever was advancing on him without a care that it was the wrong thing to do. He was pounded in the back and pulled to the floor by his silent assaulter before getting his legs crushed by more weight.  
His eyes only opened when the person took him into some odd lock that had his face to their chest. He saw the thin white t shirt and smelled the slight touch of waste to know it was Rob. He pushed the boy away, again, but his lock only got tighter.  
With his useless legs, Rob had trouble positioning himself to hug the way Blue and Yellow taught him, the best way he knew so far. It was much better than how he sat with as much of himself touching the wall, before. Plus, the wall wasn't a very good hugger, anyway. So now he could hug Ryan because it was nice for him, but the only real reason he stopped hitting it was because it had started crying harder. Crying was a very, very bad thing to do, so he knew Ryan must feel horrible for doing it. He used to seek out hugs from his blanket and pillow, who always made him feel better, when he was sad. But Ryan didn't have either of those things.  
As soon as he figured out it was a gentle move to cuddle, when Rob rubbed his back and kissed his head, Ryan put his own arms around the other. Maybe the look they shared was one of understanding. He was convinced Rob had stolen the baby, to do what with it, he didn't know, but maybe it was to save her. "I can't do this anymore," he said, even though he knew Rob wouldn't know what he was saying.  
Rob talked to Ryan, to try and tell him it was ok, but he said so in his own language, even though he knew Ryan wouldn't understand him. He kept talking, just mumbling gentle words, until he heard someone coming down the steps, to which he jumped up and walked away as if he wasn't doing anything.  
Amber stepped down, ready to shout at it for being out of the cage, but she froze a little when she saw it cry. She searched the jerking body before telling herself it was doing what she knew it was. Her attention turned to the other dog.  
Rob crawled over to her and tried his luck by rubbing his head against her leg. She reacted positively, for once, and scratched him beneath the chin.  
"What do you want, thing? Huh?" she asked. "Were you hitting it? Were you being good? Oh, you've been a good thing, lately, haven't you? Eating less, too. But you gotta start answering to, what? Rob? He'll know I'm lying, won't he?"  
Rob followed her to the kitchen and ran his thumb over his lips to ask for water. She was angry, but his bowl was finally refilled. He immediately dipped down and pushed his nose to the water, but he didn't sip, even though he was almost as thirsty as he had ever been.  
Ryan had to wait to be put back by a superior, so he remained on the floor until Amber disappeared up the steps and Rob came slowly to him.  
The bowl sloshed and lost half its water on the way over to Ryan, but Rob didn't even care that now he wouldn't get any because of it. Still, he pulled Ryan up as roughly as he could, without meaning to do so, and shoved its face into the bowl. "Drink," he said.  
Ryan wasn't sure if the wrangled word was an insult, a demand, or a nonsense sound. His nose was ripped up again, seemingly so Rob could give him a demonstration. He was tentative at first, but didn't want to miss the opportunity. And it was sudden when Rob jumped out of nowhere and ran up the steps, giving Ryan the rest of the bowl.  
~~~~~~  
"Let's go!" Amber shouted. "I want it to look nice when the man gets here and that means we need breakfast on the table. So get off your lazy ass and go make fucking breakfast."  
Ryan found his fours and waited for a superior to unlock his door. He had to make the kids candy filled pancakes often, and so knew what he was doing. Norma passed him a couple times, but did nothing to him. No spitting or hitting. He told himself all last night was, was a bad dream. It didn't actually happen.  
Just as he was going to flip another pancake, Jack ripped him away from the stove and pushed him over to the table where he was shoved in a chair. Ryan was pushed in so roughly, he swore he cracked a rib on the table.  
The man adjusted his glasses as he stepped inside and let his head follow a blur dash across the floor and pound up the stairs. "That was just Rob," the woman said. She led him over to the table, where he reached out to hold Ryan's shoulder. A plate was being loaded with pancakes in front of him; the boy looked panicked.  
"How are you?"  
Ryan turned his aching head over his shoulder and couldn't force a smile. He was just hoping he didn't start vomiting in front of the man when the withdrawal from his alcohol set in even more.  
"What's going on?" he tried. "What are you doing?"  
"Breakfast."  
"Oh, that sounds good."  
Amber tried to shoo him away, to show him the house already so they wouldn't have to actually waste food on Ryan. "You said you wanted to take a look around?"  
"Yeah, I do. Let's wait for Ryan, though. He can come with us when he's done eating."  
Ryan tried not to look too scared while he watched the man take the seat next to him. He tried not to notice his uncle cutting up the food on his plate and busied himself, instead, with studying the man.  
"How are you?" he asked again. Ryan looked exhausted and beat down.  
Ryan shrugged. He pretended to be too distracted with the man to answer to Jack. But he finally got one bite in his mouth, though Ryan refused to eat after that as he wasn't sure if eating more would be better to not, the fact that he felt ready to vomit not even on his mind to make the decision.  
The man stood when Ryan continued to refuse any food. "Hey, bud, how about you show us around, now, ok?"  
Ryan pulled himself up slowly, trying to get up as fast as he could without forcing his knees to give as soon as he was up. The policeman had to step in and half lift him when everyone else pretended not to notice he was having trouble standing. He walked the policeman back over to the man, who was waiting with Amber.  
"Show us around?"  
Ryan pointed to the kitchen. "Kitchen." To the basement. "Downstairs." Then up the stairs. "Upstairs."  
"Great, Ryan. Thank you. Now let's walk around."  
Everything was normal until they got to the two couple's rooms. In the one of Amber and Jack, simply peering in a nightstand drawer showed them a bloody ended whip. She promised them it was for fun in bed, but did not address the blood even though he took the time to take a sample. The one of Norma and Earl showed him a spent TASER cartridge. Then, in Rob's attic, blood stained the walls. Not even just a little, but giant smears of blood. It looked like the cage might have been up there at some point, because there were clear patterns, of the rectangles that made up the crate, showing white wall. On another wall there were huge circles of crayon coloured on it. Different sizes, but all were big and none were of mixed colours. The third wall looked like it had been patched up many different times, and freshly done, too.  
"This is Rob's room," she said from the middle of the room, hoping to pull his attention away from the blood.  
He turned raised eyebrows to her. "The brain damaged one?"  
"Yes."  
"What's all this blood doing here?"  
She shifted and her mouth gaped for just a moment, like it had trying to explain the whip and TASER. "Uh. Well, he had an accident just a week ago," she explained. "He was up here by himself, doing something with a knife. Without us knowing, of course. I think he was using it to try and open something, and slipped. It just happened recently and with the babies, we haven't had time to clean it up for him, yet."  
"Oh, yeah," he started, lifting a finger to point. "Where are the babies?"  
Amber made to bring up her hand to cover her mouth quickly. She shook her head and hung it.  
"Where are they?"  
"They passed last night. They had SIDS and we didn't know it."  
"Both of them? In the same night?"  
She nodded and took to fanning herself with her hands.  
"Have you ever lost a baby to SIDS before?"  
She took a step to stand in front of the patchy wall and nodded, again. "Oh, yes."  
"Well why didn't you make sure everything was ok? If they were so early and this had happened before?"  
She just kept shaking her head. "The birth left me sick and, and. Oh, I can't talk about it. It was SIDS and it was horrible and I found them this morning and-. I just can't, right now."  
"Where's that Rob?" the officer asked after sharing a horrified look with John.  
Amber looked around the room. His blanket was missing, but for a corner from the bed. She pointed, but didn't say anything.  
Ryan took a step back so they could see him cowering in a hole along the bottom of the wall. As soon as Rob noticed them looking, he shot over to a weak looking wooden shelf and scrambled up to get into a hole in the ceiling.  
Rob crawled as quietly as he could over to the other side of the ceiling, over to his baby and stolen pile of fruit. He could hear the baby start to fuss so he got it to latch onto his chest to not only quiet it, but relive some pain of his own. Every time he was given a baby, or now that he had stolen, he let it suck on his chest for a reason he didn't know. And every time he did, his chest started to hurt but the baby helped him.  
"Rob?" Amber called. "Come on, Rob. Get back down here right now, baby."  
"How old is he?" the man asked, taking a break from the anxious boy.  
"Oh, uh, nineteen," she answered easily. "He's nineteen.  
"His name?" he inquired, taking his notepad back out.  
"Robert Ross. Robert George Ross. We just-."  
"I need to ask again, sometimes. By now I'm just going through to finish this call the way I have to, but you know the people who really do abuse their kids can't always keep up with their lies. Just what I have to do. Do you think you could get him out?"  
"Sure, I'll try."  
Ryan went to the corner and stood with his head down. He was starting to shake and thought he seriously might throw up that bite of pancake onto Rob's floor.  
Jon followed. 'Who's blood?" he whispered.  
"It's not mine," Ryan promised, almost silently. "I've never left the first floor, before."  
"Ok, good."  
Ryan nodded and stepped aside to wait.  
The man turned to look in surprise at his partner and guides. "Does he not speak English?"  
Amber shook her head. "No, he doesn't."  
John gave her an odd look. "He doesn't speak English?"  
"No. He-. He has trouble speaking anything."  
Rob hung onto the splintered wood and hung his head upside down through the hole when he got tired of holding his baby. He put it back to bed with a kiss so he could go and investigate.  
"Rob."  
He looked from all the faces in the room. "Where do you come from?" he asked, awe in his voice.  
"What are you doing? Stop that, now," Amber said. Come down already.  
"Sorry," he said and giggled deeply.  
"He only knows a little English," Amber added quietly.  
Rob spoke again, but they seemed as confused when he spoke as he was when they spoke.  
"Rob!" Amber snapped.  
"Relax," John said. "He only doesn't understand."  
Amber dropped her jaw and picked it back up again to stutter, "You're right. I'm just having a rough time with the babies right now."  
John nodded to her, and then reached slowly out for Rob's wrist, holding their eye contact while he got closer and closer.  
Rob let the man guide him down, but instead of falling or using the shelf to find the floor, he floated on the man. He didn't understand. It was like he was falling but he wasn't moving.  
John bounced him higher. Even being skinny, he was heavy. Still, he held him higher to get a good look at his eyes. He seemed spaced out and looking like he was ready to cry. One eye was all cloudy white and the other looked pretty normal, but it didn't follow anything. "Rob?" he said and that was all he could do to get him to turn his head.  
Ryan stayed back in a corner and studied the blood stain on the wall while he waited.  
Rob looked from face to face. He could see a bigger blob of white on top of the yellow one, the one he was floating on. Then a dark brown blob on top of Blue. Finally, a white and very light and also very dark blob on top of Ryan. They were making up nonsense words. He said back to them, "I don't know what you're saying," but in his own words.  
"Amber!" Jack called from the first floor.  
"I'll be right back," she said and hurried away though she didn't want to leave Ryan alone with the CPS, just to have another chance to confess. She gave him a nasty look on her way out, one John and Officer Greg couldn't see.  
"We're gonna get Ryan out because his life is in danger, currently," John explained, though he was aware it didn't matter because Rob couldn't understand him, anyway. "And clearly no one here has the parenting skills to take care of you. How-. Does anybody know how old he is? Amber said like three different things, already."  
Rob stared.  
"No," Ryan answered.  
"Let's go-."  
"Hey!" Rob snapped, jerking forward.  
Ryan wrung his hands and walked past the man trying to hold him back and found his knees in front of Rob. "I'm sor-."  
Rob pushed the blue man off him and brought a heavy hand down on Ryan's head. He reached under to hold Ryan's face up to keep hitting him even when he went limp. He kept pounding until the blue was able to pull him off and hold him together, unable to get away. He wouldn't stop screaming and struggling. His chest twisted and he got scared, but only from not being able to discipline him when he needed.  
The man knelt down to find Ryan unconscious while his partner held back Rob. He checked Ryan's pulse and called to him until he woke up. "Here, you're ok," he promised while sitting him up. "You're fine."  
"Sorry," he mumbled.  
Rob twisted so he wouldn't have to watch and shoved his face to the blue thing's chest. He whined and groaned and tried hitting the thing, but the thing was stronger.  
"Now, why would you do that?" the man snapped while he tried to get Ryan to sit down on the bed until he completely refused and moved to lean against a wall.  
Rob tried to yell but was immediately quieted. He was shaking with the effort to stay quiet, but said what he needed to.  
Both John and Greg turned to Ryan, hoping for a translation.  
Ryan shrugged. "I- I don't know what he said, but I know he gets in trouble when he doesn't hit me. They hit him."  
"They hit you if you don't hit him?" John asked, turning back.  
"Sorry!" Rob screeched. "Sorry."  
Rob flinched when the man reached out to pet his head. "They're not up here, ok? They won't find out. You're fine."  
Rob just about collapsed with his sobbing and wrapped his arms around its waist. He was only soothed by a soft smacking on his back and a relaxing hushing sound.  
"Just relax, ok? It's no big deal. They're not gonna know you didn't hit him enough this one time because none of them are up here and none of us want you to hit him, anyway."  
Rob sniffled and twisted to get his legs to hang off the edge so he could stand, hauling himself up with an one of the yellow arm's from the mattress on the floor. Carefully, he took the shoulder of the yellow one to get closer. He touched the yellow one's cheek and pulled his eyebrow up. A low huff left him, but he got no return.  
Rob took Yellow's arm to hold while he leaned over to take Ryan's and drag him closer. He tipped Ryan's head around, too, to look. He lifted his shirt and then John's to make sure they all looked the same.  
John lifted his head when he recognized something Rob was saying, but put his head down again when all he heard was a mush of words he must have picked up without knowing how to use properly. Rob kept rambling, even while John looked closely at his eyes again.  
He decided he was bored with just sitting there while they ignored everything he was telling them, and so bounded back up to the ceiling.  
"Oh, don't go up there, again," John called too late. "Rob, you might fall through and really hurt yourself."  
Rob ignored it and crawled to the far side where he picked out a banana from his pile to bring back down, moving deftly so as not to wake his baby that was doing so well with being quiet. He was back on the bed in no time and brought Ryan closer instead of bothering to stand, again. The banana opened easily in his expert hands that went on to break off the end for Ryan.  
When the first piece was gone, he gave another. All until the banana was gone.  
Ryan, dizzy and nauseated still, thought to speak up again. "I think we should go back down now," he mumbled, teetering on his feet so much that the investigator came to steady him since he still would not sit. "They'll get suspicious."  
"Yeah, ok. You're right. Rob, you can come with us, if you want to."  
"Where do you go?" he asked, not wanting to let go. "Don't go."  
A heavy sigh left John before he twisted his wrist free and started back off. Rob seemed to be pretty safe up in his own room.  
Rob furrowed his eyebrows, but scoot off. He got down off his bed and sat on the floor to wait to follow them. He liked them all so much, he was going to explore with them.  
Ryan led them to the little hole in the floor with the steps descending. He wasn't allowed to be lead in anything, so he let the police officer go first, then Rob, then John. He followed.  
Greg went down almost backwards for the first few steps to watch Rob. The stairs were narrow and plentiful. It only took him a few to slip.  
Rob whined when his arms flew out in front of him. He tried digging his toes into the wood, but he was slipping. It would be nothing new, he fell every time, he just didn't like it.  
Greg took Rob from under the arms and walked back to erect him just far enough for him to lift. Rob wasn't heavy at all, which was slightly concerning, as he wasn't too strong at all. Still, he picked him up higher, and very slowly, on the unguarded flight of stairs. Rob hitched his breath while he was being manoeuvred, but still, Greg wouldn't let him go down on hands and waist to tumble to the bottom. Rob wouldn't, or couldn't, let his legs separate, so he tried wearing him like a sash to get him down.  
Rob smiled when he was secure and looking back at his Yellow. His tongue stuck out in delight of the new experience. Yellow smiled back and said something else. His tongue fell back out, not sure what he said or caring enough to inquire. And when Yellow stuck his tongue out, too, Rob nearly lost it as he laughed so hard with his first playmate.  
Greg, knowing he could stand, set Rob down on his feet when they finished the second flight of steps and were back in the main room. He didn't let go, though.  
With stretched out arms, John helped to hold up a very wobbly Rob. Rob hopped to him. He backed up again, and Rob came forward, now panting with delight and a bright red, chunked tongue slipping out of his mouth. He was gripping his shoulders tightly and hopping to him every time he backed up.  
Greg watched from behind and stopped them to try and move just one of Rob's legs. "Look, do you see?" he asked. They were alone, everyone having retreated, apparently. "His legs move together. Like one."  
Rob pushed John back gently so he would walk again  
John smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I see."  
His laugh was deep when he went to pull Yellow back in to rest his head on its shoulder. It kept saying something, but he ignored it and squeezed it. It squeezed him back and he liked it.  
"Rob," John called one more time. He pulled his head back far enough to see the boy's face smiling and still giggling with his tongue out.  
"Call him Dog," Ryan suggested.  
Rob lifted his head and turned to his name. He couldn't help but smile at his friend. He had never been so happy, before.  
"Dog?" John asked appalled. His expression was full of worry when he looked to meet Rob's eyes.  
"Or Thing."  
A heavy sigh left him when Rob's eyes went back to Ryan. "Jesus Christ," he sighed. The old hardwood floors creaked when he stepped back to put Rob down before he could start for the back door, Amber with them or not.  
Rob whined and made his way back in front of Yellow. He rubbed his head on its knees, but when that didn't work, he reached up his arms. It picked him up again and let them hug while something pounded down the steps.  
Amber rolled her eyes almost playfully when she reached them. "Very cuddly. I just wish he would use his crutches more often. His school is trying to make him use them when he's there, but he just doesn't put up with it. The physical therapy is helping, some, though."  
He let Rob hug him, leaning for support while he listened to her bullshit. The kid had made up his own language because nobody talked to him and had to crawl on the floor and fall down steps because of something he had no doubt in his mind was created from abuse and neglect. "He's 20 and in school?"  
"Well," she started quietly. "He's special like Ryan. Rob is just a little worse, though. So he does go to a place like a school where they try to help him learn, everyday."  
He tried not to roll his eyes at her lie. She really had no empathy. And no trouble coming up with quick stories. It was insulting the way she told him he went to have physical therapy and the luxury of crutches, when the poor boy was so neglected that he had to crawl around the house. That he, of them all, was rooted in the attic and probably didn't even know what a crutch was. "Ok," he said, trying not to sound too blunt. "Let's just take a look outside."  
Rob whined when he was helped slowly to the ground. He followed more slowly until they reached the door. He hid his face and shook his head when the door was held open for him and one spoke, again.  
John led Ryan down to the grass and stood in front of a hole that looked like it was trying to lead under the fencing that blocked off the under of the deck. A large metal collar sat in it with two strait, metal bars near it. One bar and the collar were chained to the deck. The bars had a master lock on each end where a piece could swing open. The collar had one, too. "What's this?"  
"Oh, well those were the chains for our old dogs. We, um, used to have more pits, but now it's just Gizmo."  
"So what are these chains still doing here?" he asked while he took out his camera. Getting closer, he could see the hole was dug by human hands and had human foot prints the size Ryan's would be along the sides. He could see where Ryan might try and curl up that would put the prints in the right spot.  
"Well, Jack hasn't scrapped them yet."  
"What is this for?" he asked, starting to get angrier when he kicked the bar that was not chained to the deck. "This chained a dog to your house with no chain?"  
"Oh, well, Jack scrapped that one."  
John scrubbed his face, no longer able to keep up his act of believing every word she said now that he had gotten to the most brutal and the most secretive parts of her life. The bar dug into the dirt when he pushed it. If that piece was that heavy, then there was no way, even by looks, that dog or man could hold up the collar if once around the neck. "Why on Earth would a man scrap one chain and not the rest? And I thought you had two pits. So what is this third piece for anyway?" he asked, shoving words into her mouth to see if she would even be able to remember she hadn't mentioned a number. He thought if she was going to do this at all, she could at least be a better liar.  
"Don't ask me. Jack is-."  
"No, I'm asking you," he snapped, voice rising. "Why are there three restraints and why are there two chains? What are these used for, Amber? Even if these were used for big, strong dogs, this would be animal abuse. A giant collar and bars?"  
"I feel threatened."  
"Frankly, I don't give a damn. I wanna know. And I'll be back tomorrow for answers. Maybe by then you'll have your stories straight. I want explanations for the bloody whip, the spent TASER, the crippled boy who can't speak English, a police report for the crash he was in, the bloody cage and wall, and why this 'mentally challenged' boy is in such bad hygiene a sewer rat couldn't match him. I'll be back tomorrow and I want to see him here. Not at his dad's. I'm gonna see him bathed and in a new set of clothes if I have to take him away to do it. And you can call his teacher or his father or who ever to tell me the story behind every bump and bruise on him. If he isn't here and he just happens to be back at his father's, I'll go see him there. And I have a feeling you don't want that."  
She looked appalled and held her chest. "I think your search is over, sir, and that you can go, now. Or I'll call the police and tell them two big men are threatening me."  
"I'm not threatening you and he hasn't spoken a word. I'm here on a warrant, and I'm also smaller than you. I'm just telling you what I'll expect from you when I come back tomorrow with another warrant to see Ryan and Rob, again."  
"What does Rob have anything to do with this?"  
He sighed. "I'm just telling you that I'll have Rob's name on the list, as well. I have no proof, only a very slight suspicion. And, as a child protective investigator, I have to work off the slightest hunches. It's nothing personal, ma'am, I'm just trained. As, if I don't, I could find out later that this is some house that cycles through kids and keeps them locked in cages. And that's not what it seems like to me at all. It seems to me that this is a very respectable and safe environment for all the children residing. I'm only doing my job."  
Amber visibly relaxed. "You're right. It is a great place to grow up. I grew up here under the same rules and so did my sister and brothers."  
"Yes, I'm sure everything is wonderful, but I just legally have to check in on every kid with the slightest suspicion. Now, I still have to just document these chains on paper. It'll only take a second. Why don't you take Ryan back inside?"  
Ryan hesitated before following. He stopped to lock eyes with John to try to beg him to take him one last time. Though, Amber was getting impatient and called his name sweetly before he jerked and hurried along.  
The back door creaked loudly and banged closed behind the two men. They walked in to find Ryan standing tall and still next to Rob sitting up and looking guilty on the floor. "We'll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon to have another chat before we can close this case."  
"Thank you, sir. Have a nice day."  
"Yeah," he grunted.  
Ryan didn't think he could take another bad day and was already forming a plan to kill himself that he was sure would slip by Brendon. If he could get home at a time Brendon wasn't outside, which should be easy considering Brendon had been sleeping all day as of late, he could run inside and grab the gun after a last hello to his father. Ryan didn't like goodbyes, so he wouldn't have another.  
Rob was the first to be thrown flat on the ground. He was used to it and knew it would get quiet and dark soon enough so he could wake up with dull aches and his mess of blood to clean up. After that, he could get on with tightly packed day. He had floors to cover in glue and walls to colour blue, along with a baby to take care of before he could have his nap.  
Ryan didn't even have to wait for Amber to finish because Jack had joined them in the room and got to work right away. Jack was a stocky dude, all muscle except for his beer belly, just like his Uncle Earl. Ryan suspected his Uncle Earl wasn't exactly a product of both his grandparents, so he tried to think about it as much as he could while he was being kicked right in his spine. Brendon might get lucky as Ryan didn't think he would be able to walk, or move, for a very long time after this.  
~~~  
Ryan lifted his head and tried to pry open his eyes to look around and see Rob still unconscious in his spot. He actually thought it was possible he had been paralyzed for a moment while he pulled himself onto his stomach until he worked his toes into the ground to help himself up more. They were the only ones on the level by the time Ryan had stirred, so he decided he would clean up Rob's blood along with his own after he felt they still had a bond between them, no matter how quickly it had formed.  
Rob lifted his head up and couldn't help but to groan when he felt the hot, wet rag that was being held to his lip as it was busted and bruised. It was Ryan who had hushed him and stroked his hair until he rested his head, again. He saw Ryan had already cleaned up after him, and that made him want to smile, but he couldn't manage it. He wasn't even able to mutter something in appreciation to his best friend of six years because he was so exhausted. He was worn mentally and physically even if this life was all he'd ever known. He wished there was some way out, or at least some way to know what everyone else knew. He only wanted to go where everyone was the same because living as the dog when they all looked the same was no fun at all. Life seemed perfect for all of them while he just kept getting more and more tired and longed more and more for there to be a way out. The doors Ryan and George often took seemed to be it, but he also wasn't ready for that, either. He wished he could have done what that old man did. One day he was there, living with the rest of them while Rob got to wait on him, and the next day he was gone and still hadn't returned. That was why he loved his babies and why he had stolen some from them, so he could see if he could give them a life not like his own.  
"How do you go?" Rob finally asked, his head still being cradled by Ryan at the chin while the hot rag started to lose its edge.  
"Just stay quiet," Ryan said, wishing he could answer to whatever the clearly broken hearted boy had said to him. "You're going to have a fine night and that John is going to get you out just like me. Maybe they'll even find out how old you are so you can find a mother and father who love you," Ryan nearly whispered, feeling warmer to the boy by the minute and more optimistic ever since he woke back up. He wasn't going to kill himself because he knew Brendon would be able to make him better so they could both enjoy many more days together, neither of them down. He wanted to get Brendon a gift when he got home, again, instead of giving him a dead boyfriend.  
"Why can't you say what I say?" Rob asked, mumbling almost only to himself. "I want to know how you get out. I want to get out. You can take me next time you go and I'll bring my baby."  
Ryan kept stroking Rob's hair and muttering hopeful, nonsense words to him until he fell asleep by his own means.  
~~~  
Amber threw a blanket over the crate Ryan was in when he started to shake and rattle it and scream. She had opened a new app on her phone and played the sound of babies crying while the kids whined at him.  
"Just leave me alone!" He screamed. "Please!"  
"Oh, shut up. You big baby."  
~~~  
Ryan was rudely awoken from where he slept in his cage when Rob came tumbling down the steps groaning and moaning. Thunder cracked after lightning flashed that made Ryan quiver and Rob run.  
Rob hated that banging and flashing and the pattering that could get so hard in the roaring it woke him up. His room often shook, so he had made sure to put his baby in the hole, out from the ceiling. He ran from the steps to the kitchen and back to the steps, nearly knocking over the huge dining room table every time he passed underneath it.  
"Rob," Ryan hissed, much preferring calling him a human name he didn't know than just Dog, even if he answered to it. "Rob, shut up."  
His head snapped over when he heard Ryan talking, even sounding scared himself. That was no good, so he rushed over and added himself to the already cramped cage. He hated that Ryan then asked him to retrieve a drink by moving his hand like he was holding a bottle, the way all the others did, but he was only upset because his stomach hurt so much. Though for Ryan, he would do anything. Even go back for a different bottle when the one he brought was not good enough.  
Ryan couldn't accept the beer because it would make him too fat, but he still urgently needed a drink. He guessed Rob could tell the whiskey had not satisfied even when he took it, because he came back with vodka just as the storm picked back up again even harder than before. Ryan was already terrified of thunder storms, maybe because he was so often put out and metal clad before being left alone. So having Rob so scared he screamed and ran away halfway through reaching to take back the vodka for a try didn't help to calm Ryan at all. He liked the nights Brendon convinced his mother to let him stay over for a sleepover with video games when he really just didn't want to be alone in a storm. Brendon knew how to calm him down, but he was still struggling to get Rob back to him to try the same trick.  
Amber was the one who pounded down the stairs to look for the one who woke her.  
Both the bottles of beer and whiskey were shoved from the cage by Ryan, and the bottle of vodka was selfishly pushed into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. He only had time to lie back down on his stomach, legs folded beneath him, and hold the door shut with a single finger at the very bottom while Amber turned and searched the room for him. Only when she turned to get Rob, in the kitchen screaming, did Ryan get the chance to lock the bolts properly, and he almost didn't even have time for that.  
Rob hummed instead of screamed when Amber finally caught him by the table and held his head up by his scruffy neck.  
"You are so lucky I don't have a gun on me, fucker. Or should I go get it?"  
Rob saw the lightning flash and flicker before his body grew stiff, then started shaking.  
She kicked the seizing dog aside and stomped over to the cage.  
Ryan's instincts made him try to dig his feet into the floor, even though he knew in the back of his head that he was only making things worse for himself. And no matter how hard he tried, Amber would always be stronger. She dragged him by his coat outside to the collar and bars.  
The chains rattled and clinked as he was secured to only to the bars. The collar was a punishment for the day, so he was completely immobilized. Not that only getting bars to stiffen his arms and legs was exactly a treat.  
Ryan was able to lift his backside and lower his head to get the bottle to fall from his pocket so he could lift it with his teeth and drink after Amber had left. He downed half the bottle in a last ditch effort to calm himself.  
Rob recovered from his last shaking fit and saw one of them by their legs. He had no time to be obedient when he thought he heard his baby fussing. He careened through the house and pulled it from the little hole in the wall to put it on his chest, so it could suck and quiet itself. But when it refused and wouldn't stop screaming, the only other way he had to quiet it was to squeeze around its neck. And he had to, because if his baby was found, it would be taken and he'd never see it again. He squeezed more frantically when he heard somebody else was using his stairs. He squeezed and squeezed until the baby turned blue in the face and some blood came from its nose. He felt bad about making it bleed, but it was what he had to do. He left it a quick kiss on its head and put it back in the wall just before his follower could drag him back downstairs and lock him in Ryan's cage.  
~~~  
Ryan woke up in a puddle, a deep one from when he must have dug his hole deeper. His head was in another puddle and just close enough for him to get the bottle of vodka back by his teeth. He was left just enough time by himself to finish the bottle and be miserable enough to think about rethinking his plan for when he returned home. But when Jack came out, Ryan hadn't done anything with the bottle.  
"What the fuck is this?"  
Ryan looked up and took his lips off the bottle. He was too drunk to be concerned.  
"After everything we've done for you? What is wrong with you? You think you can steal our drinks and get yourself drunk?" he asked, roaring to an indifferent Ryan. "And you've dug another hole? I have to keep buying dirt because you think that when you're being punished you can get an easy way out! We put you out here for a reason, so you know that you have to be disciplined when you're bad. And you find a way out!"  
Ryan laughed at how red the man was getting. "Yeah, man."  
"Don't you talk to me that way," he said, groaning out words between kicks to Ryan's side. He leaned down and ripped Ryan out of the puddle to quickly lock his neck in the heavy collar. He dropped Ryan's head in the puddle, making a big splash, and took the time the thing needed to stay under to get the bottle and break it over his bars over his ankles. He took the sharp remains and dug them straight into the skin he could see on its back, from where its jacket flipped over.  
Ryan sputtered as soon as his head was lifted, instead of gasping since he had already taken a breath in. He spat up water and coughed, wracking his body while glass was being dug deeper and deeper inside.  
"That man is going to be here soon and you're drunk!"  
Ryan couldn't answer. Before he was even done bringing up water and after the collar had been removed, Ryan was ripped up to his feet to have his shackles taken off.  
Norma led him inside and up to the bathroom. But that's not where she stopped.  
However drunk, Ryan knew what was going on when she closed the door behind herself. "Are you serious?" he slurred. "I mean, yeah when it was night and we were alone. But fucking for real?"  
"Watch your mouth," she said behind a smirk. "You've been naughty, huh? You stole and you're drunk. Oh and now poor Uncle Jack has to fill in that hole you dug, again, doesn't he?" she asked in a cooing voice. "You need a shower and then you can put on these clothes I picked out for you."  
His eyes rolled and he wasn't very concerned as he stepped into the shower. He closed the curtain and stripped, but it was quickly ripped back open. "Hey, hey, hey," he said holding his hand up. She was topless. "I know how to do this."  
"Do you?"  
"Well you just gotta turn this fucker up, right?"  
"Oh, have you forgotten how to use a shower?" she asked. "Should I help you?"  
"No, fuck piece. I've got it."  
Ryan stepped back out of the shower when he was finished, still trying to shove his nasty old aunt off and stumbled into the sink. He was freezing and she wasn't caught because she had been sent up to make sure he didn't use any hot water. "Get off," he snapped. "I'll call the police."  
"My husband is the police."  
"One of 'em."  
"He's top dog."  
"So go fuck him, you whore."  
"Ooh," she gasped.  
Ryan squared up with her and he tried to shove her back into the shower curtain after she reached for him, but he was only pushed into the sink and pressed against. "You're honestly the grosses piece of shit I've ever seen," he spat in her face.  
"Let's dry your hair!" she said and waved the blow dryer in the air. "Or rather, mine. Because we don't want anyone to know about us, thing."  
He shook his head and pulled his clothes on. The first time he was surprised and terrified, but now it was more annoying the way she fawned over him. And scary. But he wouldn't be returning, so he wasn't too anxious.  
Ryan walked downstairs to see John was already down there and standing next to his crouched police officer partner who was playing with Rob. He lifted his eyebrows at the smile, hardly remembering he was supposed to be acting.  
"How are you, Ryan?" he asked. They claimed Norma was helping him brush his teeth after breakfast, but he had clearly come from the shower and he still wasn't clean. "Are you doing good?"  
He stumbled over to the man and rested his head on the other's shoulder. "Don't I smell good?"  
"Yeah, sorta. What have you done, today?"  
"Um, I ate breakfast," he said, even drawing his words out like a drunk. "And I brushed my teeth. And I took a shower."  
"What did you have to drink, today?"  
"Water," he said in a line of laugh.  
"Water? What did you eat?"  
"What do you think?"  
"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"  
Ryan rolled his head on the shoulder he was still resting against. "I had everything, sir."  
"Well, that's good," John said as they stood in front of everyone still watching. "Will you be back at your dad's tomorrow?"  
"Yeah."  
"And school?"  
"Yeah."  
~~~  
Ryan was sat back down in his cage after John left and after the new, soft clothes were ripped from his body. Now that he was already there, he had to stay for lunch, so he could make it. But Rob was still playing in the middle of the floor. He was bothering the girl Brielle as she sat colouring in a book. She was hitting him, but he didn't seem to get that she didn't want to play with him after the police officer welcomed him so warmly. He had nothing to do, so he watched almost lethargically and tried to understand what he might be saying to her. He finally left her alone, but only to ask for something to eat.  
Rob pulled his bowl around the room as he ate, the way he always did, but ended getting in the way of the colouring book he wanted to play with, but wasn't allowed to. He thought maybe it would only take some time before he got to be like the rest of them. By then he would get a box of colours and shapes on that thin paper to use them on. He was impatient, though, and wanted it right away. He wanted more than just to have to steal his favourite colour, he wanted to be given his favourite colour the way he saw the little ones were given everything. But that was not a matter to worry about at the moment.  
Ryan kept watching, studying the way he moved. He thought Rob would be agile moving the way he did his whole life, but he felt he could crawl on the floor just as good as Rob did. One of Rob's arms twisted in and wouldn't let his hand face forward. He often tripped over it. And even living in the attic, able to go up and down the steps as he pleased for six years hadn't taught him how to do it. He still fell every time, sometimes even on the way up.  
Rob slowed down with his food and looked up with worry to Ryan. Ryan only lifted an eyebrow, but Rob knew what was going wrong. He was going to shake again and he knew it. Rob rest himself flat on the floor, first on his stomach and then to his back. He was restless, moving his head from side to side and bending his legs or not for the whole time he felt sick before he could start. He preferred the times he shook with absolutely no warning before, because all the warning he got was a feeling of needing to be sick and a pounding ache in his head that could last a long time before he started. He started to cry with what energy he had, but had to stop because it was making his stomach feel worse.  
Ryan coughed, spitting something wet into his hand that wasn't quite water.  
"Shut up!" Sue yelled. "You never can be quiet! Just shut up!"  
Sue was Ryan's grandmother.  
Ryan nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said while he held out his hand to admire the blood. He knew it couldn't be that bad because it was bright red. He was almost positive as long as it was bright and not looking like coffee grounds, he would be ok. Maybe John would even help him with it.  
Rob whined at the shouting. He howled at the disturbance before the shaking set in.  
The noise caught Ryan's attention and made him look up. He'd seen Rob have his seizures many times before, but this time Rob was turning blue. He couldn't just let him choke and he knew no one else would help him. He was only kicked back over when he started to choke on his saliva because he was on records and could be missed. They would only need to dig a grave now that John claimed to be done with the case.  
His bolts could not be unlocked easily, but Ryan needed to do it. He was rushed at before he could even make it to Rob, but not reached until he had turned Rob over. Rob was paid no attention to while he was thrown against a wall, then to the floor. After that, everything was black again.  
~~~  
Rob had gotten a beating, too. One that also rendered him unconscious. But this time, he woke up before Ryan and had the chance to clean up after them, even though there was only a small spill of blood from himself. Still, he took the rag to Ryan and pressed it against its face like it had done for him. He quickly woke after that and gave him a smile.  
"Mom!"  
Ryan shot up, not even realizing that he could have just been out long enough for his eyes to close. Brielle yelled for Norma, who was just in the kitchen, and turning around the corner with her sister and mother in law. He hurried back to his cage, but not before testing out his foot that had to be on by a broken ankle, and not before he twisted to disturb a rib worse than he ever had.  
~~~  
"Come on, thing," Norma called with her keys in hand. She had offered to take it home again, something she never did, and was quickly granted the opportunity to have it stink up her back seat and waste her gas and time.  
Ryan figured it would be just what it was. He was put in the front seat and had to keep throwing her hand out of his lap. It was all going as expected until they parked in an almost empty store parking lot. "Do you need something?" he asked, respect for her broken. He wouldn't speak up to anyone else, but she didn't seem to care anymore and his fear for her was broken.  
"Yeah, I do. Come with me."  
He got out of the car willingly and was led to the back. She opened the trunk and shoved him inside. "What the hell? Haven't you had enough?"  
"Not yet," she said before crawling on top and closing the hatch behind herself. She rocked up on her hips while she straddled his. Seeing him have to hop and wince with each step on his way to the car had really gotten her so she pulled over at her first chance.  
Getting up from beneath her was not an option with how weak he was, even if she looked like she could be sick like him. He could only sit from his waist and rip her hands off his buttons. She had come prepared, though, and picked up a full bottle of beer from the back seat to crash over his head. It didn't break, but he was knocked out.  
~~~~~~~~  
Brendon didn't want to go to the doctor's. He knew he was going to be weighed and he knew the number was going to come out much higher than it did last time. He'd just been pigging out for the past week. Sometimes he felt extra hungry, but a lot of the time he was just trying to not be sad about his dad or stressed about the CPS stalking Ryan. Hopefully they would just assume he was a bit stinky and go.  
Before he could even step on the scale, Brendon heaved a heavy sigh. He tipped his head back and let his squished-closed eyes face the ceiling. The woman recording the number even laughed a little when he groaned and asked, "Have I broken it yet?" through gritted teeth.  
"No," she said. "You aren't going to break it. You're a very healthy weight, Brendon."  
"No. I think I'm secretly a cow. Just stuck in a boy's body."  
"Brendon, would you stop?" Grace just about snapped.  
Brendon got down when the woman tugged him a little bit. He pulled his shirt out, off his body, while he looked to where she pointed to show him the number. "Oh," he grunted. "Don't show my mom."  
Grace rolled her eyes and hung back a little while Brendon went to the examination room he was pointed to, to see the number.  
She had certainly relaxed even from the past Friday and softly brushed back her baby's hair. "I don't like what you said on the scale."  
He ignored her all but for pushing his head closer so she would keep stroking his hair.  
"You know some people are so unhappy with the way that they look that they won't even eat. Or they throw up what they do."  
Brendon shrugged. "Yeah, I know. But you don't have to worry about me, I never stop eating."  
"Yeah, you eat then go to the bathroom. I'm a little worried right now, baby. Why do you always go to the bathroom when you finish eating?"  
"To pee," he said truthfully. "Why do you think we're here?" She didn't look like she believed him. "What? Do you think I can just vomit in the two seconds it takes to pee?"  
She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." She kissed his temple. "I just want you to know that you look really good, ok? You are thin, Brendon. And I will love you no matter what. Even if you weigh a thousand pounds. And I'll bet Ryan would, too."  
Brendon smiled. "I just think I'm gaining weight, is all. All I do all day is eat." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm thin, but I'm not healthy."  
"We'll start eating healthy, honey. We have healthy things, but you just like ice cream."  
"I do like ice cream."  
Dr. Arzt shook their hands when Grace let him in.  
"What's wrong with you?"  
Brendon looked to his mom to explain for him. She rolled her eyes, but still said it for him. "He pees too much."  
Dr. Arzt scoffed and had to try not to laugh. Of course he was quite friendly with Grace and her son to begin with. He asked him the usual questions concerning a UTI, though it didn't seem to fit  
Brendon returned with a wrinkled nose to the room where the doctor still sat talking to his mom. He handed the cup to the little man with glasses, brown hair, and jeans on. He only reached back behind himself to the different containers of urine testers and only glanced for the one that said UTI on the front, written on some masking tape. "We'll just set this in here real quick," he said. "And I'll be back in a few minutes." He left.  
"This is so gross," B said, staring at his cup of pee just sitting on the counter. "This is like unsanitary or something."  
"Shh. He's really cheap. And he's nice, so just stop."  
The doctor was back quickly. "There’s one thing, a possible std. Don’t panic, it may not be and it may just be a malfunction in the test but it is a risk. The best way to tell is get your sexual partner here to test them, to see, and if not then you will be fine. If there is though, you will have to undergo quite serious treatment for it.” Brendon looked at his mom in alarm.  
"Mommy, I-."  
"Stop trying to be cute, Brendon. You're grounded forever and you're never gonna see Ryan again."  
Brendon sat straight up. "No, Mom. He has to come in."  
"This isn't a game. You could die Brendon!"  
"I know that's why I need him to come in, but in secret so his dad doesn’t know and hurt him. Can you help?" he asked hopefully.  
"So you lied to that man? Ryan is in trouble?"  
"Mom, we can get him down here quickly have him tested if it is positive we can take him in.”  
She pulled him into a hug. "This isn't funny. You aren't cute. This isn't going to be fun. It is serious and potentially harmful."  
"I am too cute. Ryan says. Like, all the time."  
Dr. Arzt smiled nervously when Grace turned her glare to him. "I have some available spaces tonight, talk to the woman at the counter, I think he should Ryan tested. " he said and handed her a piece of paper.  
Grace looked sorrowfully at the doctor. "Okay. Thank you."  
He inclined his head.  
"Let's go home, ok, doll?" she said gently, just trying to get him to come along when she really wanted to beat him. "Come on."  
Brendon got up slowly and followed her out. He waited quietly while she paid for his appointment and followed, walking carefully, back to the car.  
As soon as their doors were closed, she glared holes through her son. "I can't believe you."  
Brendon waited only a moment, looking back at her, before he went back to sobbing. "Mom! How was I supposed to know this could happen? It isn't my fault, you know!"  
"Whatever, Brendon. We have to go home and have Ryan over so you can tell him."  
Brendon whined. He twisted to sit in a very awkward position.  
"Brendon, sit right," Grace sighed. "What's gonna happen if I crash?" she asked, already back on the road.  
"I'll die," he spat. "I'll die, if you crash. Crash, Mommy. Come, on, kill me, Mom."  
"Brendon!"  
"Crash!" he screeched. "Run me into a tree, Mom! Kill me, kill me! I want you to kill me, Mom!"  
"Brendon, stop that!" she shouted and reached out to find his ribs.  
Brendon shoved her off too roughly. "Crash, Mom! Kill me! I want to die! Just crash, already!"  
Grace pulled into the nearest parking lot, a McDonald's before she was blinded by her tears. "Stop, it!"  
Brendon picked himself up to swing back down, hitting his head as hard as he could into the top of the glove compartment. He did it again and again before his mom could successfully hold him back.  
Grace kneeled in her seat and faced Brendon. She held him under his arms, as if she were going to lift him up like a little kid. This, as strange as it was, was what went with the rib rubbing. It always relaxed him.  
Brendon sniffled. "Won't you crash?" he asked calmly. "Say it was an accident? Say I made you? Do it or I'll take Dad's pills when we get home."  
Grace's breath hitched, she couldn't get it right again. "Stop it, baby."  
"I’m sorry mommy. I’m just shocked."  
She smiled for him. "That’s understandable, honey. You don't want to kill yourself, though. You can still get treatment if you want, but it might not even be needed. And I'll get you some McDonald's, ok? See we're already here. Then you can have Ryan over. You guys can hang out if you want, but you need to tell him, ok? Please don't ever kill yourself. Or do anything like that ever again. You're my favourite person in the whole wide world and I would die if you ever killed yourself. Literally, Brendon, I would die. I can't live without you. And I don't even care that you had sex, already. Ok? Does that make you feel better? I know that you kids will be kids and you just didn't know that there could be consequences like this. But now we're all going to work to make this better and it will get better."  
Brendon nodded. "Yeah."  
She smiled again and let go of him. "Ok, baby. So I'll get you some food then we'll clean a little bit, alright?"  
He nodded again.  
"I should be eating healthy," he said while they waited for their order.  
Grace shrugged. "One time having fast food won't hurt you."  
Brendon whimpered as she passed him the bag. "I eat when I'm sad," he mumbled.  
Grace ruffled his hair up before dragging him over to kiss his head. "A lot of people do."  
Brendon began opening his sandwich after sipping on his milkshake. "I'm not hungry but I'm gonna eat all of this because it's gonna make me feel better."  
She sighed, still petting his hair. "I don't care what you do as long as it'll make you feel better, right now. Eating emotionally isn't good, and I'll help you find something to do instead, but I just want you to feel better, right now. Ok? It's ok this one time."  
Brendon nodded and slumped in his seat. Now he was embarrassed, too. He hadn't really thought of what he was saying before he said it aloud.  
~~~  
Grace kissed Brendon's forehead in the living room. They were done cleaning, now, and he was getting ready to leave to find Ryan. "Ok," she sighed. "Just hurry up, alright?"  
B nodded.  
~~~  
"Can I help you, Brendon?" George asked, peeking out from behind the door. He had a drink in hand as he was starting to feel too sick, but he had held off as long as he could for his boy.  
"Is Ryan here?"  
George nodded. "Yes."  
"Can you get him for me, please?"  
George looked over his shoulder, to Ryan's broken door, and then back again. "Is it important, Brendon?"  
"Yeah, sort of. I just have to talk to him. It'll only be a few minutes."  
He let out a sigh, looking back again. "I can't get him out of bed," he said quietly. "He had a very bad weekend. He stayed at my mother's house and he had a bad weekend."  
"Ok," Brendon said, rocking on his heels. He knew it was getting bad again when Ryan wouldn't get out of bed. "Do you think I could come inside to see him?"  
"Oh." George looked down at the ground littered. "How important is this, Brendon?"  
"Very. Extremely."  
"Can I tell him?"  
"No."  
George shot straighter and bowed his head. "You won't tell your mother I let you in here, will you?"  
"Of course not."  
"And you won't tell her what a mess it got to be? I really respect your mother, Brendon. She's a good woman. But I've let things go and it isn't nearly as nice in here as when she used to come around."  
"I promise I won't tell her."  
Ryan didn't even think to moan something sad when he heard Brendon had come inside from his very apologetic father. Brendon hadn't been in his house since before his mother died and Ryan wished he had never come back in. He was embarrassed about having to call over his shoulder, "Warn him about the rats," when his house used to be the cleanest of all of theirs when they were young.  
"What do you want?"  
Brendon shrugged, only making Ryan angry enough to only scare him. "Sorry."  
"Well what is it? Don't you come around here and wake me up when I'm having a shit day to just shrug at me."  
"Ryan, I think you should be nicer to your friends," George called from the tattered chair in the living room.  
"Shut up!" Ryan screamed.  
George shook his head and took a long drink.  
"I feel terrible and he knows how I get when I feel terrible and I'm in great pain and I'm stressed and he thinks he can just walk in here and embarrass me and wake me up for nothing?"  
"I'm sorry, Ryan," George mumbled. "You're right."  
Brendon was rather surprised how Ryan could treat his 'sober' father. He knew from when they were little that it wasn't that hard to boss him around, but Ryan had never been mean, before.  
"I have to hop," he kept on, though he had turned to whining. "I can't use my foot and I think I just got raped and my back-."  
"Oh my god, baby," Brendon said and quickly got to rubbing Ryan's shoulders as gently as he could. The other visibly relaxed and quieted right down. "You poor thing, baby. Are you serious?"  
"Yeah I'm serious," Ryan murmured into his pillow. "And don't call me that, he's right there and drinking."  
"Oh." He was hoping to tell Ryan quickly in his room, now that he already had to go inside, but he didn't want to take any chances, not even if it was slight if he whispered. "Why don't you come to my house?"  
"I don't want to, B. I can't move without-. Jack fucking kicked me right in my goddamn spine and it hurts."  
"I can carry you."  
Ryan turned his head just enough to glare at him. "Fine, whatever. I'll go. No, no. Don't fucking touch me, I can do it. I said I can do it!"  
B led him inside, taking his hand and bringing him to the couch. "Mom, He's here!' Brendon called.  
"What's going on?"  
Grace smiled. She had the doctor's note in hand, , to help prove themselves to Ryan.  
Brendon sat down on the couch carefully and took Ryan's hand to drag him to sit, too.  
"I don't wanna make your couch all smelly," he said quietly. "Do you have a towel?"  
B shook his head. "It doesn't matter."  
"I don't want to ruin it."  
"Sit down, Ryan," Grace said. "Don't worry about the towel, just sit."  
"Ok."  
Brendon pulled him back and cuddled up to him, only to be shoved back and for Ryan to snap, "Get off, you faggot."  
Brendon burst into tears, sitting up and lifting his arms for someone to rub his ribs or hold him out of habit. "Ryan."  
Ryan looked from Grace to B. "Don't cuddle me," he snapped, but sounded too unsure. "I'm not your boyfriend."  
Brendon couldn't help his bottom lip sticking far out. "I know."  
Ryan scowled at him. "Stop crying."  
Brendon looked to his mom. She looked angry. "Ryan, I already came out to my mom," he whined. "And don't push me."  
"You did? What the fuck? Did someone make you?"  
Brendon shook his head and went easily, letting Ryan drag him back to his side. He folded up and set his legs over Ryan's lap, his face in the crook of the other's neck. "But yeah, I did," he muttered, holding up his arms to give Ryan easier access to his ribs. He slowly let his arm fall back down, Ryan still rubbing.  
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, into Brendon's ear. "I didn't know, ok?" B nodded and put his arm around Ryan's chest.  
"I love you."  
"Boys?"  
Brendon groaned, folding in closer before turning his head, craning his neck, to see his mom. "This is Ryan. He's my boyfriend and he's really pretty and he's also perfect."  
"He's perfect after shoving you off him and calling you a faggot?"  
He nodded. "Yeah. Cause he has to make sure nobody knows or else his Dad'll kill him, so he's careful."  
Grace rolled her eyes and shook his head. She didn't like the way this boy was treating her son, closeted or not. "I don't think he needed to push you and call you a faggot just because his dad will be upset that he's gay."  
"No, like, he'll literally kill him," B said. He had been thinking, and if things went the way he wanted and thought they should, Ryan could get out unscathed.  
"B," Ryan gasped quietly, poking his ribs and making him squirm. "Don't tell her."  
Brendon shook his head. He knew what he had to do. "His dad is going to try to kill him," he said to his still doubtful looking mother. "Remember that guy who said he was Josh? Who was asking those questions? I was lying, everything I said. Remember, I sorta told you at the doctor's?"  
"I don't believe you," she said flatly, crossing her arms. "If he's so pretty and perfect and you love him so much, you would have said something."  
Brendon shook his head and nestled closer again. "No."  
"What?" Ryan asked dumbly. "What? Is Josh a paedophile?"  
"No, baby."  
"Well what do you have to tell me? My dad said not to be too long."  
Grace dismissed it, not sure what to think. She saw the bruise when Ryan looked back and forth between them. "B, you should really say it," she advised, even after she promised him she would.  
"No, Mom. You can tell him."  
She handed him the little note. "The first big thing you can do, honey. Tell him, now."  
"What?"  
"You're gonna be so mad," B said, words sliding and getting high again. "You're gonna get mad at me."  
Ryan shook his head. He had absolutely no idea what it could be at this point. "No, I promise." B kept crying. "Are you moving?" he asked quickly and grabbed B's wrist. He was never gonna let go, they'd have to stay or they'd have to drag him with. "You're not moving, come on. Are you moving away?"  
Brendon shook his head and felt Ryan slowly loosen his fingers, letting his hand regain some circulation. "No."  
"Well, what? B, I promise I won't be angry. Just tell me please."  
Brendon kept shaking his head. Ryan sighed. "Come on," he said, sounding tired. "B, tell me. Why are you crying, Brendon?! What's wrong?! Are you not ok?!"  
Grace really didn't like the way Ryan treated her son.  
B shrunk back. "I might have an std."  
Ryan choked slightly. "Come on, B. You've not got a std. You’ve not even had sex.”  
"She knows Ryan. I might have a Std so you have to be tested." He moans.  
"You... I .... What?”"  
Brendon showed him the note and saw Ryan’s fear in his eyes. "This isn't funny anymore," he said firmly. "You can’t have a std. I can’t have an std, cos that would fucking out me and dad would kill me ."  
"You might Ryan. We’ll find a way to keep you safe from your father. It’ll be alright.” She tried to reassure him when he burst into tears and pushed Brendon away.  
“No this would ruin everything we’d never run away and get married and adopt children because I’d be dead! He cries, pulling Brendon back and crying on him.  
“No no no, we can still do that. We just have to get some treatment and then well be alright. And then we can go and get married and adopt children and everything.” Ryan sniffed and shook his head furiously. Brendon sighed and pulled him still closer and folded up in his lap, again. "Mom, can we keep him?"  
"Ryan? You want me to let him live here after he gave you an std?"  
B nodded. "Mom, I swear. He's potty trained and he's good, he doesn't shout," he lied. "He's cute, now you can tell all your friends you have a cute kid and-."  
"I don't like it when you say stuff like that, B. That you think you're not cute and too heavy."  
"You think you're too heavy?" Ryan asked, pulling Brendon back to him, now that he had sat up to tick things off on fingers.  
Brendon shrugged and shook his head and nodded it, too. "I'll talk to you about it later," he finally said. "But he's really nice and he behaves all the time. And," he said, like it was icing on the cake. "You'd be rescuing an abused little boy."  
"Abused, Brendon?"  
"B," Ryan said firmly. "Stop that."  
"No, trust me, babe," he said before lifting his shirt. Ryan moved like he wanted to tug it back, down, but he trusted B. "See?" he asked and nearly gasped. He was dressed in cuts slashing back and forth across permanently purple stained skin. "I told you. I was lying to the man. Ryan doesn't want to go, he doesn't want to leave his dad and he won't. But, Mom, he clearly needs to come out, to tell his dad he's got an std. When he does that, the least that'll be done is Ryan won't have a home. I mean, it'll probably be worse, but no matter what, he's gonna be homeless. You can let him live here."  
Ryan only kept rubbing B's ribs, for both their comfort, now. He was still unsure, but he knew it was no joke if Brendon would actually be thinking about him telling his father. That was where everyone knew the joke went too far. That was where he knew it was no joke. If B let him tell his dad, there was no trick, not even a hidden resort to rescuing him.  
"How do you think we go about doing that?" Grace asked. She was just going to let a minor start living with her? With his home right across the street?”  
Brendon took in a deep breath to let it slowly out. He had been thinking, and could find no other way, so far. "Well, maybe you can call Ryan's house. I mean, Ryan you can pay a phone bill, can't you? Do you have enough?"  
"No. Brendon, I have other bills. I haven't paid rent, yet, and we're running low on drink and cigarettes."  
"So I think what we should do is Ryan, you forget the rent ok?"  
"K." Brendon seemed to know what the end goal was; he seemed to have everything worked out.  
"Don't pay it. You still have your phones, don't you? Pay the bill and get them turned them back on. Then give me the number in school tomorrow. My mom can call and your dad will answer, or you'll give him the phone, whatever. I don't want you to tell him because then you'll be right there, in his face. You'll have your things ready by the time we call, me or her, and you run over here. Then we have to call the police and tell them he's after you, everything he's done. We have to. He's arrested and my mom can adopt you if she technically needs to."  
Ryan's hands guided B to sit in his lap and face him. "I'm gonna die," he said simply.  
Brendon pouted. "No. We'll call at-. When would you like? Early? Late?"  
"How about eight pm, is that ok? Let me have a whole last day with him."  
B nodded. "You sure?"  
Ryan took in a deep breath and gave the slightest bow of his head.  
"So be ready at 7:30. Come over at 7:30, ok? Then we call and tell him and then we call the police. Is that good? You can be here before we ever even tell him. But um, don’t do it until we’ve been tested again. I don’t want to have to do that for nothing."  
Ryan nodded. "I mean," he shook his head. "Then what? I come here until he's arrested and then-? Live by myself over there? I can't. I won't get his disability, I could use MY money until it's gone, which'll probably not even get me another month of rent, actually. I might have lights or heat. But I don't even think that matters, they won't rent to me, I'm 17."  
Brendon let him finish. "You're gonna live here. Right, Mom?" He turned to see her shrug and nod. "You're gonna live here."  
Ryan heaved a sigh. "Ok. Everything's going to be ok," he said optimistically. "I'll be here before you call and, assuming, you know, your mom lets me, I can clean myself up. I'll use my money, a little, I can get new clothes and I'll get a job and it'll be fine."  
Brendon nodded, crying again. He lifted his arms so Ryan could hold him up, like he was going to lift a kid.  
Ryan knew what to do. He scoffed when Brendon quieted down a little with it. "You're gonna possibly die but you're still a baby."  
"I'm not a baby."  
"Sure you are. You need me to hold you like one when you're upset."  
Brendon glared. "Shut up."  
Ryan smiled and pulled him in to kiss his nose. "I love you," he said. "Just don't worry, ok?"  
"Why are you so ok right now? Shouldn't you be storming around, screaming? Or crying that your dad's gonna be arrested?"  
Ryan shrugged. "I don't know. I feel differently about it sometimes. I guess-. I don't know. I think this will be good, you know? I'll get out of there, I'll be with you and he'll be in prison. I don't want my father in prison, of course. But he'll be forced to detox, quit cold turkey, whether he likes it or not. And that's gonna be good for him. He can't carry on like this forever. It's gonna help him, whether anybody likes it or not."  
"Ryan, you-," Grace started. "You clearly aren't fed. You told me you were, Ryan."  
His head fell shamefully. "'M sorry." She sighs.  
“It’s okay. Now let’s go and get you tested.”  
“Now?” she nods, and he inhales deeply. ”I suppose so.” He mutters, and Brendon hugs him tightly.  
No. I can’t. I can’t be weighed.” Ryan freaks out when the doctor asked him to stand on the scales. Grace whispers something to him and he nods understandingly.  
“Ryan, I understand you don’t want to see the number, but nobody other than me will see it. And I’ve had people on these scales weigh a lot more than you will, but I don’t judge them. So it’s okay to do this.” He panics a little more before wiping his face roughly and stepping on the scales. The doctor jots something down and allows him to step off them. “Thank you Ryan. I know that must’ve been very difficult for you.” He nods not meeting the doctors eyes. “now we need to take a urine sample, so could you please pee in this cup then bring it back through so we can run some tests?” he nodded again, taking the cup and rushing out of the room.  
“He’s extremely underweight, you will have to make sure he eats well if he needs the treatment, otherwise it could harm him.” Grace nodded, lips set in a thin line.  
“I guessed as much.” They smiled again when Ryan came back into the room and passed the cup of pee to the doctor. Brendon wrinkled his nose again, as the doctor began to run different tests on it.  
“Oh," the doctor said.  
"What's the matter?"  
"Hold on," he mumbled, sounding distracted while he reached for another test. They all looked pretty much the same, just little white sticks, but the different testers had different positive and negative signs.  
"You just got a pregnancy test," Ryan warned when he saw him open it up, He didn't answer, though, and put some urine on it.  
"This is your urine," he still mumbled, sounding very concentrated. He reached for a third test while the second processed.  
"What are you doing?" Grace asked looking over at the nervous boy sat beside her son. "Is there something wrong?"  
Dr. Arzt turned back to them when the second came out positive. He showed it to them and laughed.  
Brendon looked to his mom.  
"Grace, B, maybe you want to sit in the waiting room while I have a chat with Ryan?"  
She furrowed her eyebrows a bit, but nodded. "Ok." Brendon followed her looking scared.  
The man waited for the door to close. "So, Ryan, have you ever had sex before? Like, recently?"  
Brendon looked to the door while his face turned a hundred shades of red. "Yeah," he mumbled. "So?"  
"Was it with a boy?”  
"Yes," he said with a closing throat. "So?"  
"Well, good. We're going to have to call Grace and Brendon back in so we can have a chat with them."  
"Why?" he asked, sitting up quickly. He wiped his eyes and his nose with his dirty sleeves before he could be offered tissues. "Why? What does the test say?"  
"It says you're pregnant, Ryan."  
His eyes went to slits. "What are you? Stupid? I'm a boy! I have a penis, not a vagina! I'm not going to bring up that I'm not a virgin anymore due to her son just because you think you can play funny jokes!"  
"Ryan, I've given you three. They aren't all wrong. And this isn't as impossible as you'd think. Of course, nobody who this has happened to wanted it to be news. It was always kept quiet. Besides, she already knows. She brought you in here for an std test."  
"So why do you know?"  
"I've done a little research on it. The tests aren't wrong."  
"Clearly they are!" he snapped loudly. "I think I've already said this, but I'm a boy! Would you like me to prove it to you? I am not pregnant; it probably just didn't know what to do with boy pee since you don't pay enough attention to pick up the correct test."  
"Brendon, that isn't it. It should say negative. There is no difference between male and female urine, only a difference between pregnant and not pregnant."  
"Well then they're all false positives, obviously."  
"Three tests with such high accuracy wouldn't all give false positives. One hardly ever will."  
"Except you won't just figure that all your tests are too old to be used or that they broke or something because I'm still a boy! I cannot be pregnant no matter how many tests you say come back saying I am."  
"The tests are not old and they're not broken."  
"Are you just messing with me? You are, right? You have to be. You think you're funny, but you're not. I don't believe you, so just give up."  
"I'm not trying to trick you. This is a very real, very rare, very secret condition. I can give you a website, ok? There are plenty of videos on it for you and a whole bunch of information. You'll need my log-in, though, so I'll give it to you and you can do some research. It's there for people like you, but it's protected for your and other like you's safety."  
"Can you just stop? Ok, you got me. I believed you for a second, but I get that you're trying to be funny now. Now, just stop it, alright?"  
"Should I grace back in? So I can recommend some vitamins and the ob, that is specialized in this, or maybe an abortion clinic that'll take care of you?"  
Ryan burst into tears and hid his face in his hands. "I'm not pregnant," he sobbed. "This isn't funny, anymore. You're upsetting me, can you just stop?"  
Dr. Arzt sighed and looked sadly at the boy. "I don't mean to upset you, alright? But I'm not trying to trick you; I would never tell you that you have something you don't."  
Ryan could hardly breathe. "Why, why do you even have these tests?" he asked, voice high and faltering. "Don't you have to go to a minute clinic or some other special place for this?"  
"No, I sometimes test patients I think might be pregnant," he said gently. "I did test you accidentally, but I guess it’s good I did, huh? Because now you know and now you can do everything you need to make sure you and the baby are healthy whether you decide to keep it or not."  
"I don't wanna be pregnant, I can’t be pregnant." he whimpered, still hiding his face.  
"Well how about I go get your mom and Brendon so we can get this all sorted out. Ok?"  
Ryan nodded.  
Grace walked in to see him sobbing. He lay down on his side when he heard them come in and lifted his arm for Brendon to hug him, the way he always did when he was upset. "What's going on?" she asked. "What happened?"  
The man heaved a sigh. "Would you like me to tell them, Ryan?"  
"Yes."  
Dr. Arzt swallowed and looked to Grace. "Ok, so, I went to give him the test for the UTI, but I wasn't looking when I reached out and I accidentally gave him a pregnancy test. It came back positive so I gave him two more. They all say he's pregnant."  
Grace wrinkled her nose slightly. "He's a boy. And this isn't funny, you're upsetting him."  
"The hormone that the test looks for is only found in pregnant women, or individuals, rather. I would take him to an ob. To be sure he's alright. There are only a few specialized in this, but I'll recommend to you the one in this region. If he does decide to go for an abortion, you should do that through this ob."  
“He’s pregnant?” Brendon looks bewildered. “There’s no std?”  
“There’s no std, just a baby.” The doctor confirms.  
“See Ryan? You won’t die. And now we can get married and have kids, just not the way you expected, or the time you wanted. But we can work it out.” Ryan continued to sob, unable to really form words. Flashbacks of weekends at his aunt’s flash before his eyes, making him feel sick.  
“I think an abortion may be required.” Grace says quietly.  
“NO! Mom that’s just a baby! You can’t get rid of Ryan’s baby! That’s his escape from his dad! That’s my baby!” Brendon began to cry as well.  
“I think I will get the abortion.” Ryan chokes out. “It’s for the best. I could go back to dad and be normal and you can stay together and be normal and it’d all be fine!”  
“No no Ryan baby. You don’t have to do that. We can work it all out, we wouldn’t mind having you and baby around. I swear it’ll be nice. And everything will be fine and good.” Ryan swiped away his tears angrily.  
“It won’t be fine and good! It’ll ruin me, you, us! And you won’t be saying that when I get huge and fat and ugly!” Brendon gasped, taken aback by Ryan’s sudden mood change. Honestly, so was Ryan. ‘Hormones’ he thought to himself, and somewhere in his head a little voice said ‘pregnancy hormones’ but he shut that thought away.  
“I’m not pregnant!” he yelled, before leaving and slamming the door on his way. Grace sighed.  
“The joys of parenthood. Go after him Bren, I’ll talk to the doctor and be out in a minute.” He nodded and followed Ryan. “Can I have the website and the clinic details? Also, um, a note stating his well, uh, state. So if he decides to go through with it I can give it to the school?”  
“Here. I’d written it all out while they were arguing. Go and get your boys.” She smiled and thanked him, before running out after them.. She saw her son, holding Ryan’s hands away from his body, and Ryan was thrashing around, desperate to get free.  
“Let go of him B.”  
“But mom, he was punching his tummy! He was trying to get rid of the baby!”  
“Don’t do that Ryan. If you want the abortion we can organise that. But don’t do it like that, you could seriously hurt yourself.”  
“I don’t care!” he thrashed more. “I want it gone! Now!”  
“We’ll get it sorted as soon as we can.” Grace said, surprisingly calm. “You’re going to have to live with it for a few days. We’ll get it done professionally and safely. Ok? Can you promise me you won’t do it before then?” Ryan stilled and nods, sniffing. “Thank you. Now let’s get you home quickly.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
His knuckles even ached when he had to knock on the wood door to get into his science class, nearly ten minutes late.  
"Where's your pass?"  
He thought about apologizing for what he did the past Friday, when he sat her down and told her everything. He would have to stop doing that.  
"I don't have one."  
"You're ten minutes late."  
No way was he going to apologize to her, he decided. "I know."  
"So what were you doing?"  
"Coming here." In reality he was freaking out, thinking about the abomination that was growing inside of him, like some weird tumor.  
"Ryan."  
His teeth grit together painfully. "Can you just fucking move so I can sit down? I can't exactly walk right now, so you can go ahead and shut the fuck up. I don't really give a shit that I'm late."  
"Do you understand how mean you are?"  
"Dude, I'm gonna fall."  
Reluctantly, she moved out of his way to see him practically hopping to his desk. Doing that showed her that his shoes didn't even have bottoms, they were fake. "What happened?"  
He couldn't meet her eyes and only shrugged while he pulled his bag into his lap to try and find something to take the notes down on. "I don't know."  
She could see there was even more wrong when he tried to get his notebook and hardly moved his arm. "Come into the hall," she said.  
Ryan sat on her office chair she brought up from its shortest height for him.  
"Are you gonna go to the nurse?"  
"No."  
"Can you just go to the nurse?"  
He shook his head, already coughing like he was trying to bring up a lung. "I can't," he mumbled while he looked at the blood on his hand and wiped it on his chest.  
"Ryan," she hissed.  
"Look, relax, ok? Brendon's already giving me shit about it. I'm not going to the nurse and I'm not going to the hospital and I'm not gonna die."  
"What happened to your ankle?"  
"Something bad."  
"What was it?"  
He shrugged, but opened his mouth to tell her anyway. "You know the boy who can't walk or talk?"  
"Yeah."  
"Well he's epileptic so he was choking and they don't care if he dies. I went to help him and got knocked out and woke up with it."  
"What happened to your arm?"  
"What?"  
She pointed.  
"Oh. I honestly think I might have cracked a rib. Um, huh. I actually can't remember how I got this one. Obviously, I was hit, but I forget why."  
"Ok. So how about you go down to the nurse and-."  
"No."  
"No, wait. You go down and they'll get you an ambulance and you do your thing and maybe they'll-. Tell them it was accident and they can release you after you get treatment."  
"No, I don't need another bill. And I don't know, I mean-. Like, I think-." He cleared his throat. "Like I think I'm getting fat and it's either I'm gaining weight, which I think it is, or I have worms. But either way I'm losing my figure and how is the hospital supposed to let out a minor so morbidly obese he can hardly move?" He knew exactly why he was gaining weight, but didn’t want to admit it.  
"Ryan, are you serious?"  
"Yeah. I mean, I've been good on Sundays but I ate some, like, dog food recently and I didn't have a chance to get rid of it and I've been drinking more lately which I think is contributing and I even fucking let Brendon's mother feed me yesterday and I know I shouldn't have, but I've been depressed, like worse, lately and I didn't even give a shit but now I do."  
"You are nowhere near morbidly obese and nowhere near being so big you can't move."  
He dropped his head and wiped his face even before the tears could spill. "And I'm pretty sure the sores on my sides are infected and I don't know if they'll let me leave like that and don't you need an adult or a parent to get you out and my dad won't do that and-. I'm fine. Actually, better than you'd think. I mean, I may die today, but things should go smoothly and I should be fine."  
"Are you gonna kill yourself?"  
"No, no. Not at all," he mumbled. "I'm just gonna take my chances because Brendon thinks everything in this world will play out the way he needs it to and he doesn't understand that bad things can happen."  
"What do you mean?"  
"It doesn't concern you."  
"It does if you're talking to me and making me think you might die. You said you're not killing yourself, so what? Should I send you to the guidance office?"  
"No thanks."  
"So tell me Ryan," she demanded.  
"All I'm gonna say is that I don't think you'll be seeing me tomorrow, but I won't be dead. I paid the phone bill before I went back home from Brendon's yesterday and I set it up and now all I have to do is give him the number."  
"You're not being funny, Ryan. What phone bill?"  
"It doesn't concern you," he repeated. "I-. Oh fuck, I'm getting out, ok?"  
"I thought you didn't want to."  
"Well now I have to. So just leave me the fuck alone and hope you don't see me on the news. Not that anybody would care, anyway."  
"Why must you speak so cryptically?"  
Ryan dropped his head back with his eyes rolling. "Can I just get the fucking notes, lady? Jesus Christ, why must you be so nosey?"  
~~~  
When Ryan burst into laughter from the seat right behind at him, at something his German teacher was saying in German, Brendon went beet red. When he turned, he saw Ryan's face was red, too, but it was clearly from alcohol warming him.  
"What the fuck is she saying?" he asked, between wheezes while he sat doubled over with his water bottle about to slip from slender fingers.  
"Ryan, shut up," Brendon hissed. He had been glad that they could actually make it to the second week without any outbursts.  
Mrs. Lehrerin dropped her shoulders. Not only was she upset that he was interrupting her, but she was also well aware of what was going on. The last time he got drunk in her class, he had promised her he was getting help and showed her papers the school gave him and all. She did care for Ryan, after a whole year of having him and now working on a second. He was a good student but he was clearly having trouble.  
Ryan laughed so hard he fell out of his chair and fell onto the floor.  
Brendon gave the teacher an apologetic look while the rest of the class was silent and watching. Brendon liked this class a lot because it was clear none of them had any dislike for Ryan. But none of them knew how to react to the third time Ryan was so drunk he was noticed because he fell down and was slurring, so Brendon kneel next to him while he waited for the help the teacher was calling.  
"You're gonna be fine," Brendon promised Ryan, who was sitting slumped in a wheelchair and starting to get stressed. "Babe, how many times has this happened before?"  
Ryan shrugged after a glance over his shoulder to see the man he didn't even recognize from the office talking to his teacher. "Like, fucking a lot, dude."  
"Yeah," he said with a nodding head. "Yeah, a lot. And it's going to be the same."  
"No, B. They'll send me away."  
Brendon shook his head while he rest his hands in Ryan's, on Ryan's lap. "No, baby. This school," he started and glanced to the man. "This school sucks. They're not going to do anything. They're going to take away your vodka and-."  
"No."  
"They have to. And you're gonna talk to the guidance counselor and-."  
"No."  
"Stop. You have to and you know because you came to school and got yourself drunk. You're going to talk to her and then you're going to sleep in the Nurse's room and I'll come pick you up at the end of the day. I'll take you home, make sure you get on the bus ok and then you can come over so I can take care of you."  
"Yay."  
"No, Ry. It isn't funny. Any of this."  
"Well, I'm not laughing."  
He rolled his eyes and sat up to give Ryan a parting kiss, prompting the never judgmental class to shift in their seats and make one students say, "I'm actually not surprised."  
Ryan had fingers slipped through belts loops and refused to let Brendon pull away until he got a heavy hand sitting on his shoulder. It was that man from the office. He looked up and dropped his hands.  
Brendon's face was a renewed red when he got back to his seat. "Guys, don't tell anyone," he said while Ryan was just going. "Just this class, ok?"  
"Nobody will tell," Mrs. Lehrerin promised.  
~~~  
Brendon held Ryan's hands, swinging their arms nervously on the strip of sidewalk that was their bus stop once they had gotten off. "Are you sure you don't want to just come over now? Get it done?"  
Ryan nodded. "I'm sure, B. I'm gonna be fine, ok?"  
Brendon ignored Spencer's smacking him over the head on his way by and returned his gaze to Ryan's. "At 8?"  
"Mm-hm."  
"Even if you don't show up?"  
Ryan nodded. "Even if I'm not there yet," he confirmed. He wasn't sure what he was gonna do yet, but he was thinking about taking his bike to go get himself shoes and socks while he could, mainly to please Brendon. That way he could show up looking even a little nicer than he had. "Even if I never show up. Call me, hang up, call the police. Because he'll be after me. But I promise I'll be out of the house in time, even if I'm not at yours. Ok? And don't you dare come and get me if I don't show."  
"So I can't come and see if you're ok? If when I tell your dad you're with a boy and you never show and I think he might be hurting you and the baby?"  
"Especially if you think he's hurting me. Look, I'm gonna be out of the house, ok? I promise. But he might come outside to look for me before any cops get here. He knows who you are and he might think you need to be punished, too. So do not leave your house, do you understand me? Because this time, I won't be the one to kill you. He will. Just sit tight and make sure somebody's coming. Ok?"  
Brendon nodded. He understood what Ryan was trying to say. He wasn't going to obey, but he could understand Ryan's worries. "Yeah. I promise."  
Ryan bent down to kiss him, even out in the open with the other kids in the neighbourhood still hanging around the bus stop like they always did for the few minutes. "I love you," he said, no longer afraid.  
"Love you, too."  
Ryan squeezed Brendon's hands before letting go and turning away. There was another tinted car facing his house. They didn't bother him much, anymore. It had gotten to him, though, to come in on time. He took a deep breath of the clean, outside air and opened the door.  
As soon as he shut the door, Ryan had hardly been able to dodge out of the way of a beer bottle. It smashed, some shrapnel hitting his neck and surely lodging into his mess of hair.  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
Ryan sunk to the ground submissively and covered his head. He wasn't sure how he felt knowing this was going to be one of his last beatings. But, then, he didn't have much time to think about it while his father grabbed his elbow and threw him into the wall. "What is this?" he shouted and stomped on his son's clearly lame foot. Ryan bit his tongue and swallowed a scream when he heard his bones crunch in his foot. He wanted to cry, it hurt so bad. But he'd been through worse and only blinked away some tears. It must've been bad, because when the man drug him to his feet he couldn't even stand on it the way he had and was smacked back to the ground for not using it, probably.  
"What are you? Crazy?"  
Ryan only let out little grunts each time he hit another wall or the ground, subconsciously wrapping his arms around his tummy.. A bottle was thrown to his abdomen and he inhaled, making sure it didn’t touch him, but he was fine. It was all normal until he was worked over to the other side of the room, to the closet. The tiny little closet maybe two feet square. He tried to work himself away, face the other direction and get his father to throw him that way again, but his dad seemed set. He groaned when his back slammed into the back wall of the closet and he watched with wide worried eyes when the door slammed shut. He heard the lock click and knew he was done for.  
Ryan hadn't been locked in the closet in over two months, he had thought it had run its course over the years. The way the belt was used for a while then tossed aside. Like the bleach and the frying pan. His dad had gotten bored or lost the tools and found something else, only ever completely consistent with the knife and the bottles, along with the bare fisted hitting and throwing him around. And Ryan used to like the closet, it was his favourite. If he was locked in Sunday night or Monday morning, even Saturday at midnight, he always got out midday Sunday, when George had sobered up as best he could. But now Brendon was going to call and expose him that Monday night, weather he showed up on time or not. So, basically, Ryan was going to die that night. It was simple.  
Ryan jumped up and tugged on the handle with desperation. "Sir?" he called, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to. Maybe he could eventually rip the handle off, if he tried hard enough. Or kick his way out. "Dad?"  
Ryan's eyes grew wider when he heard an angry grumble and heavy stepping getting closer. Now that he got what he wanted, he didn't want it anymore.  
George ripped open the door and bent down to grab his son by the collar of his sweatshirt. He brought their faces close together. "Do you know what's good for you?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Really? Because I would not be making any noise, if I were you."  
"Daddy, can I come out?"  
George let Ryan hang lower only to have room to bring back his arm and backhand the other's face. "What have I told you about calling me Daddy, you useless fucking piece of fat ass trash?"  
"Sir, please. I'm sorry, sir. It was a mistake. Can I please come out?"  
"You think you get rewarded for mistakes?" he yelled.  
"Please, sir! Daddy? Dad, it's me! It's Ryan, your son! Please, let me out. Dad, please? Sir! Please!" Ryan even started sobbing, which was either helping him a little or sentencing him to death. "I need to be out of this closet. Please, Daddy, you don't understand." He tried to find his father's waist to hug and his shoulder to cry on while the man was surprisingly not trying to kill him already.  
Ryan grunted when he was thrown back to the inside wall in the middle of more begging. "Please!" he yelled, only to be kicked between the ribs and winded, unable to move while the door slammed shut. He had resigned, he was hopeless. There was no way out and he knew it. The door locked on the outside and if after six year of it's own abuse, whether from him trying to get out or stray bottle breaking and his body thrown into it, it was not broken already, there was no way the weak, malnourished Ryan had any chance. He only tried to sit as far from the corner he had to occasionally use as his bathroom and ignore the burning, swelling foot to try and have a nice few hours to reflect on his miserable life.  
Only a few hours in and Ryan's heart felt like it had stopped. He had mistaken the door bell for the phone he kept telling himself he was hearing. Once he relaxed, he was able to see hope. His dad never answered the door, and if this person was persistent, would take him to do it. He could run. His foot hurt like hell, yeah, but he could run.  
George hit his fist into the side of his head when the door bell rang again, then once more. He groaned loudly on the way for his gun.  
Ryan smiled up nervously at his dad. Why did he have his gun in hand? Did he already know?  
"Get up," he barked, waving him with the pistol. "You answer the door and I swear to fucking god; you run, I shoot. I know you're trying to get out of there."  
Ryan nodded and pulled himself up, using the walls the wedge his arms until he was too his full height. George kicked him with an angry grunt to the ground. "You have two feet!"  
"Yes, sir," Ryan mumbled. He got back to his feet and tried to use his ankle.  
"Limp in front of whoever's at the door. I dare you."  
Ryan inclined his head and tried harder. His dad took position next to the door, both hands on the gun, and waited to escort him back to the closet. Maybe if Ryan could hold whoever was at the door long enough, his father would get distracted by something so he could go. But Ryan wouldn't dare, even if he thought he could get to the porch and close the door, try and run with him right there, for he wasn't so sure he could run anymore. He was nearly screaming in pain on the way, but had bit his lip.  
A man in a FedEx uniform stood. Ryan could see a FedEx truck, but with it's window's tinted. A red line was just visible to Ryan on the front license plate. A Bluetooth was on the guy's ear and Ryan could see a little black thing connected to his collar. There was another on his hat.  
"I think you have the wrong door," Ryan said calmly, not skilled in the art of receiving packages enough to know the man was wired. He noticed everything, but he figured it was normal. "This is 203."  
"Do you wanna step outside for me?"  
Ryan could hear his father jostle the gun on purpose. He shook his head. "No, sir." Ryan swallowed and stood perfectly still while the man took a step around to see the bruise on his neck.  
He touched his neck, trying to show Ryan what he was talking about, as the child was obviously acting strange, maybe because the father was near. "You ok?" he asked quietly.  
Ryan nodded. "Fine, sir."  
"Do you want to come with me?"  
Ryan cleared his throat to cover up his father hissing, "Hand off the door, fucker." "No, thank you."  
"So where's your dad?"  
Ryan swallowed nervously and flicked his eyes to the side.  
"Right there?"  
Ryan, eyes wide, nodded and swallowed again. His mouth was dry and he was sweating. He made sure not to move suddenly and not to hold the door, even for balance.  
The man was just hardly whispering, more like trying to mouth all his words. "Do you want to come with me?"  
Ryan shook his head, hoping the man would keep it up. His father wouldn't shoot him in front of somebody, he wasn't crazy, but he might get tired and go for another drink. Then Ryan could go. Maybe not with the man, but he could go to Brendon's a little early if he needed it. He could get his shoes the next day.  
"Just come on," he muttered, nodding his head urgently. "I know it seems weird, but I swear. I'm gonna help you."  
Ryan willed the man to go on, maybe a little louder so his dad would know he wasn't just standing around, taking advantage of being out of the closet. "Yes, sir."  
"Will you come?"  
Ryan moved his eyes to indicate his father as right there, again.  
"Do you want me to knock in a few minutes?"  
He shook his head as little as he could, so his dad wouldn't take it as move to leave, by mistake. "Stay," he said, a little gruffly. "Please."  
The man held his hand out, but pulled it right back when the boy widened his eyes urgently and lifted his chin sharply. "Come on," he urged. "Let's go. I can help you."  
"I can't," Ryan choked out.  
"What's he doing?"  
Ryan's eyes flicked from the black piece on the man's hat, to the thing on his collar and the phone on his ear.  
"Just step outside a minute."  
"Keep talking," Ryan demanded, shifting on his foot.  
The man looked down, turning his hat to catch the foot, clearly swollen. "Are you ok?"  
"I'm fine."  
"Dude, come one. I'll fucking carry you. Just come with me."  
"I can't."  
"I can call for more help."  
"Shh, quiet," Ryan warned.  
He returned to whispering. "I'll get more people out here. Police, too. We're gonna get you out."  
"Who called you? Who reported this?" Ryan asked, trying to buy himself more time, while his dad was clearly getting bored, rolling his neck. He tried to make it sound like he was in some important conversation that wasn't ending, just yet.  
"Hm? I-I don't know, man. Do you need help walking? Just come on outside and close the door when he goes. I'll help you to the car and I'll take you to get help."  
"Where, sir?"  
"It doesn't matter, does it? Just a children's home, first. We'll get you cleaned up and we'll get you fed and watered. Do you want that?"  
Ryan seized up when the gun jostled again, sounding more impatient than before. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I want out of here, I just can't go, yet."  
"I'm with the CP-!"  
"SHH!"  
He pulled out his badge to show the kid, instead.  
"Who called you?"  
"I've got no idea, man. I don't get told that stuff."  
"What time is it?" Ryan implored.  
"What?"  
"What time is it?!" he hissed. "Don't you have the time, sir?"  
"Oh, oh. It, um, it's like-."  
"Not like. What time is it? Right now?"  
"7:18."  
Ryan smacked a hand to his forehead and whimpered. "Are you fucking kidding me? Already?" It felt like days had passed while he waited, but Ryan had thought it had only been a couple hours, real time.  
"Why what's the matter?"  
"Oh!" Ryan nearly jumped, putting out his hand excitedly. "Do something for me! Please, sir. Please, you have to!"  
"What? What is it?"  
"Go to the other side of the court and-."  
George cleared his throat and stomped his foot. "Let's go."  
"I-." Ryan started to look to his father, but played it off as glancing over his shoulder. His father had lifted the gun by the time he brought his head back around. "Can you."  
"Ryan!" George hissed.  
"House 2-." Ryan cut himself off at the click of the safety. Maybe his dad was crazy. "I have to go."  
"No! Come with me. I'm gonna help you!"  
"Sorry, wrong house, sir."  
"Ryan!"  
"Thank you. Goodbye, sir." Ryan hopped back and swung the door shut before his father held the barrel of the gun and smacked him across the face with the rest of it, knocking him to the ground.  
"You do not just take advantage of me! I let you answer the door! You do not use that privilege to stand around with your fucking friends when you know you're being punishment!"  
Ryan nodded, pushing himself up, only to be stomped on between his shoulders. "I'm sorry!" he screamed, more frustrated than anything else.  
"Watch your tone! And don't fucking scream at me! Now get back in there!"  
~~~  
Grace smiled at Brendon sitting on the couch watching the television. "How was your day?"  
Brendon shrugged "Fine. I half came out of the closet."  
"Oh, that's so great. Did Ryan?"  
"I don't think so. I mean, our English teacher knows and I think our Science teacher, too. And I think everyone assumes he's my boyfriend, Jon and Spencer especially."  
"That's good, at least. He won't be shoving you around and calling you a faggot anymore?"  
Brendon gritted his teeth at her. "Just drop it. He loves me. I love him. He’s having my baby, if that doesn’t say something to you than I dunno what will."  
"Help me clean, would you?" she asked, not returning anything else. "I want it to look nice if he's gonna move in with us."  
Brendon whined. "He said to call even if he doesn't show up. He said he'll make sure he's outside, in time,"  
"Ok. If he wants that," his mother answered. "I don't care."  
"But what if? Like? He forgets?  
"He's not gonna forget  
~~~  
Ryan had slipped his hoody collar over his nose since he had drank so much water with his lunch. He drew his legs in closer and hugged his knees tighter, wondering how much time he had left. He could feel his foot was grossly swollen and it never stopped hurting. He listened to the rat squeaking just outside the door and hoped for Brendon to go back on his word and tell his mom they would do it the next day, they would have to try again. He was sure that was what the worried B would do. Then he would realize that the closet had come back and they would need to wait until the next Monday. He had a very sizeable hole in the side of the closet he had made with his head and been picking at, pulling the wall out to try and get the outside, so he could crawl through, but had since given up. He had gotten far, but not far enough. Time was passing and he found no use in using his last bits of energy in vain.  
The phone finally rang out and nearly made Ryan vomit. Maybe his dad had passed out. But then the ringing stopped and was replaced with a gruff, "Who the fuck?" It was just a telemarketer.  
All he could make out when he strained his ears was that it was Grace on the phone, not Brendon. His father barked at her, but she seemed to insist, for the man had thrown what Ryan assumed was the phone at the wall and started stomping closer and closer. Something in him switched and he returned to digging the wall out, pulling out clumps of the grey, crumbly material like a dog, ripping his nails apart until he could shove up to his shoulder inside the wall. The closet door was ripped open.  
Brendon peeked out the window again and looked across the court to Ryan's door. Nothing was happening yet, but his mom said he had smashed the phone. He kept watching, waiting for George to come storming out. His mom dialed 911, next.  
Ryan was dizzy from hardly breathing since the first ring. He tried to resist his father lifting him by the collar of his hoody, but it was useless. He was thrown up against an outside wall to his full height and he screamed, he never screamed, when his father smashed a thick, heavy open palm to his ribs. He wasn't screaming because it hurt, though it did, it hurt bad compared to anything else, but hoping maybe the neighbour he shared walls with would call 911 and say it was urgent, more urgent than Grace probably made it out to be. "HELP!" he screeched, only to be punched in his mouth. "Help me!"  
Ryan didn't need to hear the crunching bones in his other foot, his toes, and ribs to know he was being broken under his blood curdling screams. His ears rang with his father yelling at him, telling him he was a faggot and a good for nothing piece of shit.  
Brendon was glued to the window. He shook his head to himself and grabbed his phone from where his mother left it while confiscated, just on the side table where she could see. He opened the door and was halfway to Ryan before she could even finish yelling to him.  
Ryan couldn't breathe with his crushed chest by the time he was thrown to the floor. He only groaned when his forearm was broken next by repeated stomping under his father's scolding. He drew in a shaky breath and said as loudly as he could, whimpering, "Please," he begged. "Please, Daddy. Don't you love me?"  
Ryan cried, tears streaming down his face as he rolled his head side to side. From what he knew, assuming his father was successful with each one, his feet were broken, his ribs, probably all of his toes, his sternum, his humorous, and his radius and ulna. His baby was almost definitely dying. But he knew it was far from over.  
The thin screen door was thrown open by Brendon so he could press an ear to the heavy, metal, locked, door. He heard grunting of a man and occasional screaming of a boy. "Ryan!" he shouted and tugged on the door handle, but it was locked. "Ryan!" He fumbled with his phone and slid to the emergency dial.  
Ryan moaned and lazily tried to tug his next hand from under his father's heavy foot. "B?" he mumbled. "Oh, god, go home."  
Brendon cried on the phone to the operator, telling her to make the ambulances hurry. "Please," he begged. "He's in there."  
Grace sighed and found her shoes to follow Brendon more slowly. "Get back," she snapped at her son, standing in the screen door. "Brendon!"  
Brendon kept crying and sniffling to the poor woman on the other end, forced to listen to his screams and sobs. He ignored his mother, he didn't care if George turned to get him, next.  
Ryan's neighbour came out, phone in hand, to see Brendon crying out and Grace pulling him back. "Have you called the police yet?"  
Brendon nodded and let his mom pull him back to stand to the side. He screamed and dropped the phone when the new woman said she smelled smoke, and then he saw a quiet fire through the window, eating at the old drapes. "Ryan!" he screamed and fought to reach the door, but his mom and the other woman were too good at holding him back.  
Ryan didn't even try to keep track of broken bones anymore, though he knew he had some to add to his list. It was getting harder to tell what was hurting specifically as the pain spread. His dad had gotten down, kneeling on his stomach to rip his hoody up and over his head. The man took the bottle he had just broken over Ryan's head and drew it up his back twice, digging in. He slashed it over Ryan's neck, hitting his jaw and bleeding him over his broken clavicle. "Dad," Ryan whined when he was cut up his chest, his arms, everywhere. "Sir, please. DAD!" Ryan's eyes grew when he saw the man draw a matchbook from his pocket and strike. "DAD!" he yelled. Ryan screamed on the top of his lungs. "Dad, no! Please!"  
Ryan bent one elbow and sat himself up a little to drag his useless legs back from the burning carpet. He kept pulling himself back, to the other side of the room and leaving a bloody trail while his father was gone. Ryan thought he was ok, by now. He'd made it. He could hear sirens, he knew he could. Now he just needed to stay back from the fire and hold his breath as best he could. The firefighters would be in and they would put out the fire. He could get some casts if anything truly was broken and be back to school in the week, maybe tomorrow, if it wasn't too much. He was going to see Brendon and Brendon was going to be fine. He moaned from his aching head, his vision was blurred and foggy and he felt nauseated.  
"Where did you go?"  
Ryan's heart pumped faster, which was probably not good for he was already feeling faint, most likely from all the blood loss. He moved just his eyes and saw his father with something in hand. Not his gun. Please, not his gun.  
Ryan gasped when his head was kicked to this side, his neck snapping loudly in his ears. He screamed to make sure he could, thinking maybe he was dead now. His neck had to be broken, but he could still scream. "DAD!" he yelled when the barrel came into focus, pointing at his head. "Daddy, please! Daddy, I'm your son! Please! Sir, I'm sorry! NO!" he screamed, holding it out until the shot rang through. He shut up and closed his eyes, his ear burning, and let his head tip to the side. Between two more shots, Ryan could hear screaming. His? Brendon's? It didn't matter, he would figure it out when he woke up. He was exhausted and went limp when his father scooped him up. He was back in the closet again, twisted legs up a wall and shoulders pushing against the opposite one. Was that another gun shot? Had it hit him? Did it matter? It was quiet.  
Brendon screamed until he was out of breath then screamed some more when Ryan was cut off by what could only have been a gun. He sobbed and shoved his shoulders against cops forming a barricade. "Please," he begged. "Please! Let go! Please! Ryan."  
Grace wrapped her arms around Brendon and was quiet while he sobbed for the loss of his lover. She cried gently while he screamed into a police officer's chest, then her shoulder. She tried holding him under the arms, the way he likes, but he ripped away and squeezed her waist, he even bit her shoulder and screamed. She thought he might be calling to Ryan or begging.  
The firefighters on the scene broke into the house and had no trouble putting out the fire, still small and secluded to the corner, for the most part. "Ryan?" The adult was already removed, shot in the calf as he was walking away, so now all they needed was the kid. "Ryan?" they called. "Are you there?" It was assumed he was dead by the way he stopped when the shot rang out, but they still prayed. "Ryan?" They needed to find the body, anyway.  
"Tell them where you are," Brendon chanted to his mother's neck. "Tell them where you are, baby."  
Ryan let his eyes close, he was pretty tired. He heard his name, but he didn't really feel like answering. He wondered where his dad was, maybe it was him calling. Everything was very mushed. His throat burned more and more with each passing second, but his nose was low and he could still breath. Now was a good time for a nap, he was comfy.  
Firefighters, police, and paramedics all searched around the house. A fireman found the tiny closet, darkened to match the wall with soot, and fumbled to unlock the door with his big, thick gloves on. When he did, the door opened on its own, pushed by a loose wrist leaning against it. The arm tumbled out and fell to the ground, bright red with blood. He followed up to see a neck bent in a way no neck should bend, the head sitting on the shoulder. Eyes blinked open, white in a see of crimson, and red teeth smiled at him. "I found him! I got him!."  
He was tired. "Hey," he mumbled, but all the people told him to hush, to relax, they said. His ear was still ringing. Somebody else made him sit up, but he was still trying to sleep. They put something around his neck, it felt nice, and something over his face. After that, he was put on a bed, so he could nap. Finally, someone understood. "Thanks, you guys," he muttered, but it hurt to talk and to breath. Nobody answered him, so maybe they were gonna have a nap, too. "Sorry."  
Brendon held his mom far too tightly when he heard a man call out that he had found him. His lips moved with a beg, pleading for them to not have found a lifeless body. "Ryan!" he screamed again when he stood on tiptoes to see something red being carried to an ambulance. Red with small jeans on. "Ryan! Ryan!"  
Ryan smiled. That was B, right? He drew in a long, painfully slow and full breath "B!" he yelled before somebody else told him gently to hush. He just wanted to know if Brendon would nap with him. He'd never napped with Brendon before, maybe it would be fun.  
Brendon screamed, now excitedly, into his hands. "Ryan," he cried. "Mom, that was him? Was that him?"  
She nodded. "I think that was him."  
Brendon hugged his mother again. Jon and Spencer were there now, called by the sirens. Jon had rivers down his face while Spencer sniffled and blinked excessively. A police officer soon came up to him and started asking him questions that he tried to answer quickly. When he was done, they were offered a ride to follow the ambulance, which Brendon accepted on behalf of his mother.  
"It's all my fault," Brendon wined to his mother's chest. His arms were lifted for her to hold him, but he was also trying to lay on her. "I shouldn't have let you call. I should've waited for tomorrow when he didn't show up."  
Grace let go with one hand to smooth back his hair while she hushed him. "It wasn't your fault, baby. We didn't know this would happen."  
"Is he gonna die?" he sobbed.  
Grace didn't answer.  
Ryan smiled at the woman leaning over him in his bed. "Hi," he mumbled. They told him not to speak, but he didn't listen. "What's your name?"  
"Be quiet, ok? Just relax."  
"I'm gonna take a nap."  
"Not yet, ok? Stay awake."  
Ryan giggled deeply, drunkenly. "A'right."  
Ryan looked up to the white, shiny roof. "Guys, where did I go?" He waited for an answer, but got frustrated when they only strapped things to him, making him unable to move anything, not his arms or legs or back- they were all splinted. "Guys."  
"Just relax and don't talk yet, alright, sweetheart?"  
Ryan whimpered. "You know, I'm real sick and tired of you telling me not to talk. I just wanna know where I did go."  
"You're in an ambulance, we're taking you to a hospital," she explained when things started to calm a bit. She had cleaned and dressed a lot of his wounds, so far.  
"Oh, guys, I don't need to go. Not to the hospital."  
"Sure you do! Here, look, it's a teddy bear, ok? Do you want to sit with this teddy bear?"  
Ryan gasped. "Yeah! Oh, I love teddy bears, miss." He smiled at it sitting on his chest she had just wiped clean. "Are you-. What are you doing?"  
"Dressing your wounds, ok? I'm giving some stitches and some just need band aids."  
"Can you do the one on my back?" he asked, trying, but unable to shift. "Because it's still sticky."  
She nodded and began untying him from his splint for his back. She needed to get to it in case it was bad.  
~~~  
The police car Brendon rode in had caught up to the ambulance going a normal speed back to the hospital. He wasn't sure if he should take that as good, that Ryan was ok and there was no longer any rush. Or bad that Ryan had passed and there was no point. He had gotten inside, sitting in the waiting room while Ryan- dead or alive- was being unloaded. He was looking white again, a colour Brendon hadn't seen on his skin in nearly six years. But he was a little too white from what Brendon could tell, through the window. Ryan had an oxygen tank following him and didn't seem to be moving. He got closer, allowing B to make out a teddy bear going along with him on the gurney. And when he got inside, Brendon nearly threw up with relief at hearing him ramble. It was the first real confirmation he was alive, as he thought he might have been hearing things at the house, before. Brendon had promised to keep Jon and Spencer informed, but following him to the x-ray machine was more important.  
Brendon caught up to the gurney and they let him follow along its side. He was scared to touch, but made sure Ryan knew he was there.  
Hearing Brendon made Ryan smile. He was even more hopped up on medication, by now. He couldn't even feel the re-ripping of his lip, making it bleed again. "Babe?" he slurred, eyes closed.  
Brendon sniffled. They were only walking, but hurriedly. "Yeah, Ryan. Are you alright?" he asked, but the clear answer was no. Ryan had a small section of his face white, but the rest was not red with spilled blood, but open wounds.  
Ryan squished his eyes shut. "Baby, yay. We're gonna have a party."  
"Ok, baby. Do you feel ok? Are you in pain?"  
"I can't feel a fucking thing, my love."  
"Is your neck broken? Why can't you feel anything?"  
"No, Brendon."  
“Is the baby ok?” Ryan looked confused, so Brendon pressed a kiss to his temple. “Never mind darling.”  
Grace hugged Brendon even outside of the room safe for x-rays. She held his head close and kissed his hair over and over.  
"He said he can't feel anything and he has a neck brace on," Brendon whined. "Mom, is he paralyzed? Mom?"  
Grace sighed shakily. She wasn't going to say no. "I'm not sure, Brendon. Just be glad he's alright, ok? Somebody just told me he's going to be perfectly fine. They need to see what's broken then they can give him some casts. They know what they're doing," she promised. "He's going to be ok, they're taking good care of him."  
Brendon whimpered. He could hardly breath, he was hyperventilating. Ryan was brought out again and led them finally to a room with a bed in it and some chairs. He was swiftly moved to the bed from the gurney while a doctor Brendon wasn't sure was new or not wheeled a big cart in front of him. "Do you want to pick his colours?"  
Brendon sniffled while his mom rubbed his side and pointed to the cart, trying to encourage him. "Can you make him a rainbow?" he sniffled.  
"Sure! There's going to be a lot, ok? He'll be nice and colourful, don't worry."  
Brendon nodded, but that didn't make him feel any better. He watched them make sure he had the teddy bear while they moved it around, occasionally referring to the x-rays on a lit board. Ryan moaned a lot, especially while they put the clavicle strap on him. Brendon rested his head on his mother's shoulders and just hardly remembered to text his friends that Ryan was going to be fine.  
Grace let Brendon wait until they were all done patching Ryan up, so he could say goodbye before they had to find a way home.  
Ryan blinked up at Brendon when he made his way over to his bed side. He sighed and squished his face from the pain. The doctors were promising more pain medication soon, he could only hope very soon. "Hey," he said, voice empty. Only his lips moved, his voice was gone, for now.  
Brendon wiped his eyes and his nose. "Baby, do you feel ok?"  
Ryan wanted to nod, it would have been easier than talking with a busted lip and burning throat, but he couldn't. "Fine, my love."  
Brendon leaned over, not touching Ryan or the bed, to leave the gentlest kiss he could on the part of Ryan's forehead that was missing a wound. "I love you, ok?"  
"B."  
Brendon sniffled. "Are you paralyzed?" he ask, voice higher than ever, maybe so only the dogs could hear it.  
Ryan furrowed his eyebrows, hopefully looking confident. He could feel his broken foot still swollen and in a cast. He could remember feeling them move everything, making him hurt again. And his ribs felt caved. "No."  
"So are you in pain?"  
"No."  
Brendon sniffled again. He looked to his mother, standing up and nodding to the door. "I think I have to go now, ok? Will you be alright?"  
"Yeah, but B," he said, sounding like he was dying in a whisper. "Make sure... you tell Mrs. Lustig... somebody fucked up."  
"What?"  
"Somebody fucked up. Tell her."  
"If you want," he mumbled, hands still wringing against his chest. He leaned over again and pressed him another kiss. "I'm gonna see you tomorrow, ok?"  
"Goodnight."  
~~~  
Brendon couldn't fall asleep by himself after such a traumatizing night, so he got up to find his mom at her desk. He, half asleep, spun her wheelie chair and climbed into her lap.  
Grace groaned and put her arms around his bare and warm back. "You're lucky you haven't gotten bigger since you were eight."  
Brendon mumbled. "You ok?" he asked her neck. "You sound like you're gonna cry."  
Grace shook her head and kept rubbing his back. "No, I'm fine," she said, trying to control her voice more. She had just finished crying. She was going to have another person in her house that she would need to feeding and clothes, too, now. Ryan didn't have anything anymore, not even clothes. They had cut him out of his jeans and she had no faith in ever washing the mess out of his hoodie and jacket. Not that she could just let the kid carry on that way, in one outfit. She was going to have pay medical bills, though hopefully the orphanage he now technically belonged to would cover at least this. He would need money for lunch every day, too. And anything extra curricular he wanted to do; she couldn't just let Brendon do things and then not him. And on top of all that, she didn't even think she liked Ryan. He seemed like a real punk. He often swore, though never to her, he pushed B on the couch and called him a faggot. He grew up in the home he did, which did not bode well. And then there was going to be even another person. Maybe a little one, but surely the most expensive. The doctors had informed her that with Ryan’s state it would be impossible to safely perform an abortion. She might have to force the boys to get jobs, though Ryan, she thought, should wait. And with her salary that got them into the subsidized housing development along with something from the grocery store or McDonalds- that may never even come- wouldn't be enough. Not enough to clothe and feed four people, pay for medical needs, get a safe crib, a changing table, diapers, bottles, ~formula~, so much formula. And then she needs the bills and rent. So yeah, she wanted to cry, she just had, and felt like she might just break down right there.  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah. Go get in my bed tonight, ok? Do you want that?"  
B nodded and climbed carefully off. He took her hand even though she said she wasn't done at her desk and dragged her to her room. He crawled under the sheets and shivered against her until he drifted off.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
He woke suddenly, being shook and called to. He much preferred Ryan's gentle puffing on his face.  
"Get ready for school, baby, ok? You're going, aren't you? You don't have to."  
Brendon nodded, sat up, and cried. His mom held him, she seemed to understand just how upset he was. "We have to go see him, today," he warned. "I promised him I would come."  
"Ok, we will. He's in the recovery part of the hospital now and'll only be for ten more days, they think. Ok? Isn't that great?"  
"What are they doing that's gonna take ten days? I thought he only had broken bones?"  
"Well, I talked to some doctors over the phone, and they told me he has some bad infections on some of his older wounds, but nothing that is gonna, you know, kill him because they have them under control. They just have to keep him to have a close eye on it while he's there. And he's got some worms, so they'll get that taken care of, too. Oh, and how he was starved. They'll put a little weight on him there with a feeding tube and then he'll be able to eat on his own, again, by the time his stay is over. They also want to monitor the baby for a short while, to see how the alcohol and abuse have affected them. Then he's going to come here and he'll be laid up in Dad's old room, ok? He'll miss school for a while, but you can keep him caught up."  
"Why can't he stay in my bed?"  
A heavy sigh escaped her. "I know you might need to share a bed, especially for when the baby comes. But, whether I allow that or not, he can't stay in your bed when he gets here because not only do I not want you two together right away, but he's not going to be able to move for a few weeks and his ribs are broken and his neck and all that, so you don't need to sleep next to him, anyway."  
Brendon nodded before he pulled back. "Ok."  
~~~  
Brendon was attacked with questions at the bus stop after the sirens of the night woke everyone, the gun gave them heart attacks, and the news vans were still out with reporters being played with by all the neighbourhood kids behind their backs. He pretended he couldn't hear anybody at all. Jon and Spencer knew he was ok and nobody else really liked him. Everyone was generally friendly, but not friendly enough to get Brendon to think they should get to know. He was sure the news told them he was fine, anyway.  
He smiled all too weakly at Mrs. Lustig, whose eyes were red, on his way to his homeroom. "Can I talk to you?" he asked. She invited him inside and closed the door before gesturing to a seat.  
"Um, Ryan, he told me to tell you something. He- it has a swear- he said that somebody fucked up." Brendon's eyes went wide when she bowed her head and started crying. "No! No, don't cry, ok? He's ok."  
She shook her head and took in a deep breath while she wiped her eyes carefully so as not to smear makeup. "He kept telling me he'd be fine so long as nobody fucked up. What happened?"  
Brendon scrubbed his face and took in a deep breath. "Um, Ryan.. We thought we had stds, but it turns out they messed up mine and Ryan is pregnant." he said and explained their plan with the phone. "And he didn't show up so we called and then this happened."  
"Yesterday was Monday," she said. "Monday. I called CPS, they've been spying on him, trying to see how to get him out of there safely. They promised they would have him on Wednesday. Tomorrow is Wednesday."  
Brendon listened with wide eyes and pricked ears. "YOU called CPS? The tinted cars went around, he's noticed them. They sit outside and watch him. He was wondering what they were doing, and then one came up to me and said he was CPS. You are lucky this happened this way. Didn't you hear him threaten you? He told me he did."  
She nodded. "Said he was going to kill me and one of my sons then hand their father a drink after they all watched," she said. The thought haunted her. "I thought he was putting on an act. He said he was going to wait until he got strong and then he started talking in the third person and-." She sighed.  
Brendon shook his head. "No, he's fucking crazy," he said and quickly covered his mouth. She waved it away, but he still whispered, "Freaking crazy. He is. He really would have let them put all the weight on they wanted, until he was healthy. Until he was strong. You would've been dead. He wasn't joking."  
I mean, I know it's none of my business, but come on. Aren't you in the same position he is?- was? If he does that to you when you try to help?"  
Brendon shook his head. "It's not like that. I've known him my whole life. And he isn't always like that. I-. I think, though, that the temper is mostly just him being really, really bitter, upset, sad, hurt. He never had any sort of temper at all when he was little. He was the nicest of us all." Brendon smiled and tipped his head. "He kissed our sores when our moms weren't home when we were really little. And he let me beat him up because he was always stronger. He picked flowered weeds, one day, too, and gave them to my mom because it was her birthday. To Jon's mom, Spencer's mom, his mom and even his dad- who, for the record, WAS the only one of all of our parents that sometimes came outside and played with us or helped us make something fun in his backyard. Ryan was just really sweet. He IS really sweet but he's hurt and he really is just bitter. He's still Ryan, but sometimes he just gets too upset and takes his frustration and panic out in ways he shouldn't. That's all."  
Mrs. Lustig nodded. "Hopefully, for everyone's sake, he'll calm down, now that he isn't there anymore."  
"He might, but he'll probably be really depressed, too." Brendon sighed. "Oh, dear god, I hope this doesn't mess him up. Oh. But I need to get to homeroom, I can't be late," he said and stood. He even gave her a long, tight hug before he tried smiling again and turned to go.  
"todays announcement is a very serious one. One of our high school's very, uh-. He's smart, I hear. Also very talented, a musician as well, in Brendon's band. There has been some neglect on the school's guidance department's part that is being looked into. Things have been recently discovered that don't need to be shared with the entire school, but most of you probably do already know that he was in a terrible accident last night. He is ok, he will make a full recovery but will not be back with us for at least another six weeks- when he is out of enough casts. As I said, Ryan IS ok and he WILL make a full recovery, but we, his friends here in school, still seem fit that we hold grief counselling for any loved ones who feel they need someone to talk to after this rocking, traumatic accident and its terrible circumstances. There will be grief counselling after school today, and maybe tomorrow if anybody actua- um, if they see fit. Everybody is encouraged to come together to find the support they may need to work through this and help others who need it. And of course everybody is encouraged to report if they think another student could possibly be going through what Ryan did. And please, please do. This didn't need to happen and should never happen again. The grief counselling will be held in room NC 11, Ryan's homeroom. Thank you and that is all for today's morning show." Brendon begins to cry, softly at first, then louder until he is a sobbing mess, and has to be taken out of the room. Grace is here to pick him up quickly, and sighs.  
“Come on. We may as well go and see Ryan.”  
~~~  
"Ryan?" he called. The room wasn't black, but the curtains were drawn and no lights were on.  
"B?"  
Brendon got around the corner, through a very short hallway like space that opened into a white room. There was a bed, with Ryan lying flat on his back, across from a counter running nearly the length of the wall with a sink in it and cabinets underneath. There was one reclining chair in the corner, where the counter didn't reach and opposite the door with a few metal chairs under a window. There was a night stand next to the bed with rails holding the unlit lamp.  
Brendon held onto the rail of the bed. He could see Ryan still had the teddy bear from the ambulance.  
Ryan blinked up at Brendon and smiled as slightly as he could, so as not to rip his lip again. All he knew was that he had on a t-shirt from the hospital and was covered in a blanket up to his waist with the heater going. He was still cold. "You came," he said hoarsely, throat still a mess from all the smoke.  
Brendon nodded and swallowed. Ryan's lip was busted, his eye was black, and most of his face was an open wound, under the oxygen mask. "Of course we did." He also had a feeding tube in.  
"Your mom's here, then?" he asked, flinching and wincing when Brendon reached across him.  
"Oh, hello! Ryan, you have visitors!"  
Brendon smiled at a stout, short woman with a black pixie cut in blue nurses' wear. He shook her hand.  
"Yes, ma'am. My boyfriend and his mom. Em, Brendon and Ms. Grace."  
"Oh, Ryan, just Grace, ok?" He always called her ma'am before. She assumed it was not him being polite on his own and didn't want it to carry on, especially with her, any longer.  
"If you like."  
Brendon ran a finger through the little bit of hair that he could while she switched what tank his mask was hooked to. "It's gonna make you act sorta funny, ok, Ryan? But it's gonna numb you and then we'll feed you, ok?"  
"Do you think he'll, like, get something, like, mentally from this?"  
"PTSD is the main worry." she said, moving his bear closer, more so he'd know it was there. Ryan tried to move some fingers and bend his elbow, to hold it. "It can take some time to set in, so we don't know yet. And not everybody gets it, he may not. So we just gotta wait and see, you know? It can take up to three months to set in, so you know, but he could wake up tomorrow with the first symptom. Then he'll probably need a bit of therapy. For PTSD, if he gets it. Something to rehabilitate him. Maybe depression. Nobody should live like this. It isn't right."  
Brendon nodded slowly. He found some of Ryan's fingers poking out of a full arm cast, on his right side, and gently held them.  
“Oh also you’ll be glad to hear that by some miracle (cos me, ya author said so) the child is completely unaffected by the injuries and the alcohol. It is a perfectly healthy foetus.” She smiles and leaves the room, having completed her jobs here.  
"Why are you here, B?" Ryan asked. "Isn't it the middle of the day?"  
"Yeah," he sighed. "I was just crying inconsolably, though, so my mom had to come pick me up."  
"Why?"  
Brendon shrugged, but he wasn't leaned over so Ryan could see any. "Cuz they put it on the announcements and I just-. I dunno."  
"Oh."  
"What happened?" he asked. "Can you talk about it? You promised you would be out." Maybe Ryan was still on that high where he thought he could do anything and come out unscathed. Maybe he thought he could reason with his father or even take him down instead and come out the victor.  
"Yeah. So, I went inside and he threw me around like always. He-. Ok. He threw a bottle at the door, he missed. He threw me around, grabbing my arm and my foot was or ankle was already broken. And then he took me to the closet."  
Brendon, with silent tears running rivers down his cheeks, leaned down and put his head near Ryan, trying to be careful and not dent the mattress and pull Ryan around. "Did you try and get out?" he managed through a few waves of tears and sniffling.  
"Baby, don't cry, ok? Do you see? I'm here, I'm fine. Yeah, I tried to get out, of course I did. I tried the handle, I shoved the door, I begged him, and I screamed. I even tried digging my way through the damn wall."  
"You were scared. Were you scared?"  
"Well-. No, babe. I wasn't scared."  
"Why not?"  
"I knew I would get outta there," he lied. "I knew I would be ok."  
Brendon whimpered pointedly and stomped away to get a chair to drag over.  
Ryan furrowed his eyebrows when the sobbing faded away. "Brendon?"  
"I'm getting a chair," he answered miserably.  
"B?" Did he just leave without even telling him? Maybe he'd gone to find a bathroom to clean his face. "Brendon!" He would have at least told him. "Ok," he sighed, disappointed. He liked the visit, he wasn't so alone anymore. All he had was the white, blank ceiling and the feeling of something, just a lump, in his arm. He tried to hold the lump and pretend it was Brendon's waist, maybe along with an arm to his side.  
Brendon set the chair down next to the bed again and reached out for Ryan's forehead when he jumped. "It's me."  
"Sorry."  
Brendon ignored the apology and took a seat. "I just went to get a chair."  
"Where?" he asked, confused. To another room? It almost sounded as if he'd gone out where Ryan was pretty sure the door might be.  
"Over there," Brendon explained patiently, not sure if Ryan knew what his room looked like, yet, other than the ceiling. Ryan sighed, so he pointed a finger above his head and made Ryan smile at the attempt to get him to understand.  
"I think I may be deaf over there," he muttered, not sure if he wanted Brendon to know that.  
Brendon clicked his tongue and sighed. "From what?"  
"The bullet."  
Brendon stood up and leaned over Ryan, holding onto the other rail, to look at his ear. He gasped and whined when he saw a half circle cut perfectly through the top, it looked like someone had put ointment on it not long ago, and it was blackened. He started to hyperventilate even and cry at the same time he sat back down. "It's so close to your head," he whined. "Is that the only one? Didn't he shoot three times?"  
"Yeah," he sighed. Breathing was slowly, gradually becoming more bearable. "Yeah, but, the, the others ones missed."  
Brendon smiled. "The others ones?"  
"Yeah."  
"Miss. Ann?" he asked, needing to choke out the words.  
"Yes?"  
Ryan tried to shift, but he couldn't. "Why can't I have a drink, again? I think I should have a drink."  
"You can have water."  
That made him laugh. "No, I want a drink. I need a drink. Because I'm sick."  
"You're underage and in the hospital, dear. This is helping you."  
"No it's not," he grumbled.  
It really was. He was clearly an alcoholic with what he told them. And a heavy smoker. So now he was being forced to quit both, mostly for the baby currently, and with a proper follow up from his new parents and the support he needs, he wouldn't have to go back. "I know you don't think so," she said to him. He was very calm, probably because he was drugged up for pain, but even on the first day of knowing him, she knew he could get mad. Just earlier, when he was vomiting from his withdrawal, he was crying and begging for a drink before getting angry with them all and calling awful names while he said he understood why nobody liked him. He was just mean. She could see it when he glared at her even before his family had gotten there and when he had nothing in him to affect him.  
"Ok," he muttered. "Oh, but what if I said I feel like I'm gonna be sick, again?"  
"No, sweetheart. But do we need to help you vomit, again?"  
"No."  
Brendon rubbed Ryan's palm where he could while the nurse dismissed herself to go get something to put through the feeding tube.  
"Brendon, I love you."  
"I love you, too, baby."  
"They had to cut my jeans off, lovey. They're in the drawer, she says."  
"Ok."  
"Kissy."  
Brendon leaned over and kissed Ryan's eye, making him laugh deeply and beg for another, then another, and another until the nurse returned.  
Ryan moaned when he figured out what was going on. He was too out of it to care. They seemed to be timing his feedings pretty well for they had all been while he was not himself. "Brendon, guess what. I pretend the teddy bear is your waist and I get to hold you all-. Get that the fuck away from my face."  
~~~  
Ryan sighed when he could hear Grace's feet enter his audible field. That, he now knew on his fourth day in the room, was where the door was. He looked over to see Brendon glance to his side. "Are you going?"  
Brendon set his chin down on the rail again and tipped his head to a down sounding Ryan. "Yeah," he sighed. "It's getting late, baby. You should get some sleep, too."  
"Is it not Friday?" Ryan asked, knitting his eyebrows.  
"It is."  
"Can't you stay?" Ryan could feel his chest twisting from his anxiety, even making his broken sternum ache. He felt like his chest was put under a steamroller. He was beginning to feel light headed and get a little sweaty. Brendon was leaving again? He always came and left. Ryan wished he would just come and stay or not see him at all until he was to his new house.  
Brendon shrugged. He didn't like to say no to Ryan, but wasn't sure how much longer his impatient mother was willing to sit in a silent room, only to occasionally be interrupted by 'I love you's and maybe some laughter or sniffling. They didn't talk much, though they had had a nice, and lengthy, conversation just the day before, when they spoke about how many children they should try to have after Ryan had to make sure he was actually pregnant. But he still didn't know why Ryan was acting so nervous.  
"You can sleep in the chair, right?" Ryan asked, blinking quickly to get a tear refusing to fall out of his eye. Brendon wiped it away for him. "B? Please, Brendon?"  
Brendon looked over his shoulder, back to his mother standing, arms crossed and shaking her head by the way out. "Hurry up," she mouthed.  
"I don't know. This is gonna be your fourth or fifth night, right? What's the matter? You've got less than a week."  
"Mmm," he whimpered in place of a shrug. "I don't like it here, B. It's scary. I wake up and there are people screaming. Like, multiple people just screaming in the morning. And I don't know what's wrong with them, but they don't stop. And, Brendon, it's dark. It gets really, really dark. I don't like the dark. And it's cold and sometimes I drop my bear and I can't get her and something in the walls starts whistling and I'm scared and why can't you just sleep in the chair? Will it hurt you? Your back? You've slept curled in my lap before, even after we did it. Can't you stay?"  
Brendon looked from Ryan to his mom while he tried to rub Ryan's arm through the cast, not sure if he could feel it, or not "Will they get mad? Am I allowed to just sleep here?"  
"Yeah," Ryan said quickly. "Yeah. Miss Ann told me the other day somebody has somebody sleep in their chair every night and she even said I should invite you because I think she knows I don't like it. Can you? Please?"  
Brendon nodded and ran his thumb back and forth over Ryan's shoulder. "Yeah, hold on. Let me ask my mom, ok?"  
"Oh," he sighed. He knew very well how strict Grace could be. "Don't beg, ok. You're right, I'll be fine."  
Brendon drug his mom over to Ryan's left side, the deaf side, hoping it would be harder for him to hear the imminent insults waiting for him on Grace's lips. "Please," he started to beg before she could even say no. "Please, mom."  
"No. No way."  
"He just said even the nurse said he should invite me. Please, Mom? It gets cold and dark and people scream and somebody whistles and it freaks him out."  
"No," she said with clear finality. "He isn't getting scared, he only wants you to stay and knows I can hear him," she spat in a whisper. "I don't know why, but I know he's faking it. He's just a punk."  
"Mom," Brendon whined. "Mom, I would be scared."  
"Of course YOU would! He's just some punk, Brendon. I can't even believe I'm actually going to let him live with us. You're damn lucky he has no where else to go and that he’s actually fucking pregnant."  
"He isn't a punk! He's scared."  
"You know Michelle doesn't even know where her daughter is more than half the time. She's always out partying and smoking with boys."  
"You think me and Ryan are going to do that?"  
"Yeah, maybe! Brendon, I swear to god, if he starts taking you out and you make a habit of his drinking, I will drive him to the orphanage myself and return him."  
"You can't return a kid."  
"Watch me."  
"So you think I would go out and party and drink with Ryan when all I do all day to begin with is eat ice cream and watch cartoons?"  
"No. I think Ryan will take you out to do all things and have more sex with you."  
"Mom, Ryan doesn't do that. He isn't a punk. He used to come over when you were still at work and we drank chocolate milk and watched Disney movies until he had to go," he said, even though he was doing most of the chocolate milk consumption. "He isn't like that, he's like me. Whenever he did come over, it was hardly ever to do something sexual. Once he moves in, all we're gonna do all day is sit on the couch and I'm gonna eat while we do homework when he isn't trying to find a job or working. He's not a punk. He would nap all day or freaking pick flowers over anything like that."  
"What about the fact that he's a fucking alcoholic and smoker?"  
Brendon's shoulders fell and his head lolled with his rolling eyes. "I can guarantee you the reason he started was because it was the only thing he could get to drink. He's ok, now. I know he's been a little on edge, but that's just withdrawal. So he's quitting and I'm gonna make sure he doesn't go back."  
"How? How on Earth do you expect to do that?"  
"Cupcakes."  
"Brendon, stop. This is serious."  
"I'll give him cupcakes for each little milestone. Each month he makes it."  
She only re-crossed her arms. "He's anorexic. And you aren't staying. I probably shouldn't even go through with this stupid adoption. It's not impossible to raise a kid by yourself."  
"Brendon?" Ryan called after a long time of silence. "B, I don't know if you're still there," he said and by saying it, sent a sharp pang through his chest. "But don't go begging your mom if you are, ok? I don't want her to get mad at me and you're right, anyway. I can spend another night by myself, it's no big deal."  
"Mom! He's so lame you wouldn't even believe it. You wanna know why my grades got higher? Because he makes me do my homework. He does his homework, Mom. He's lamer than me. Mommy, he gets scared and he drops his teddy bear and he can't pick it up. The teddy bear he named Flowers. Its name is Flowers, Mom."  
"So?" she asked. She groaned when he put his head on her shoulder and told her the bear's name was Flowers again. What could Ryan really do? He was immobile and Brendon would be in a hospital, no better place to be. "Fine," she sighed. "Do whatever you want. Do you have your phone?"  
Brendon squealed and pulled back, arms shaking, to nod. He hurried over to Ryan's side and told him, to which Ryan squealed back and said, "B, we get to have a sleep over!"  
"I know!" Brendon said and leaned down to kiss Ryan's tummy while he found Flowers to touch. "All four, right?"  
Ryan made a happy noise and wanted to nod. "Yeah, baby. I'm so excited."  
Brendon gasped, ignoring his mom pull his head over to kiss his hair for goodbye. "Babe, we're gonna have sleepovers every single night once you get home. And that'll be so soon."  
Ryan sighed heavily before he twisted up his face from the pain. "Yeah."  
Brendon pouted and ran a finger along Ryan's jaw. "Would you like me to sit right here until you fall asleep?"  
"I dunno," Ryan mumbled. "Yeah. Maybe. No, you don't have to."  
"We'll get you nightlights, ok?" Brendon promised. "For here, there's an outlet under the window and one right behind me. And you'll have some at home, too."  
Ryan smiled. "Thanks, love."  
Brendon sat up again to kiss his temple. "Your welcome. Now go to sleep, ok?"  
"Mmm." Ryan closed his eyes, but only for a moment. "Ooh, I'm too excited! You're my best friend."  
Grace rolled her eyes in the hall before the door to Ryan's room while she listened to them. She sighed silently and started out.  
~~~  
Brendon sat up and rubbed his eyes. Ryan was whimpering, so he got up to check on him. "Babe?"  
Brendon watched Ryan's face squish and him try to shift. "Baby, wake up."  
"Babe," he whined, eyes watering. He was hardly able to catch the yelp in his throat when he registered that it was Brendon who had touched him and was standing over him.  
"What's the matter?"  
Ryan flinched when the screaming started, but Brendon kept his focus on him. "I dreamt about it."  
"About it?"  
Ryan hummed. "About sitting in the closet, I was terrified even in the dream. And, B, I swear I could feel him breaking everything all over again."  
"Did you dream about it last night?"  
"No," he grumbled.  
Brendon smiled and leaned down to leave a kiss on the other. "Is that the screaming?" he whispered. It sounded like someone was being murdered, and Brendon couldn't ignore it anymore. Someone else had seemed to start, too.  
"Yeah. B, I don't know what's wrong with them. Do you think they're hurt? Are they scared?"  
Brendon shrugged. "I don't know."  
~~~  
Grace scratched at Brendon's head while he said goodbye to Ryan, for real, this time.  
While listening to the footsteps he could now recognize as belonging to the nurse with the smallest voice, Ryan sighed at a sweet kiss. He started to get a little nervous, wishing he could sit up and watch her, to make sure she didn't get too near him or Brendon without him knowing what she wanted. "I'll see you soon, B. I love you, ok?'  
~~~  
A big black spider crept around its sticky web while Ryan watched. He never said anything about the spider, afraid they might kill it or remove it. It was his new friend and Ryan had named it Anthony. Sometimes, Ryan could see some black specks with Anthony, but he never noticed any bugs around him.  
"Ryan, would you like me to open the window?" Miss. Ann asked once she had made it to his right side. "It's nice and warm out today."  
"Oh, sure," he said, taking his eyes away from the spider as quickly as possible and turning them to her round, sweet looking face. Maybe it would let some bugs in for Anthony.  
"Ok, dear. There are three so, I'll open up two. Sound good?"  
"Mm." She acted very nice, very caring. She always asked if she should turn his heater up or pull his blanket tighter. But he wasn't so sure what her motives were, yet. He doubted she was just nice. She was just trying to gain his trust so she could start taking her anger out on him as well. Ryan didn't know what was going on in those other rooms, but he knew none of the three or four consistent genial nurses were with him.  
Ryan tried to take in as deep of breaths his pained chest would allow of the ambrosial midday air. He hadn't smelled anything nice since that last deep breath before his final step inside. Everything since then had been food taunting him, medication trying to alter him, or his own smell trying to suffocate him. He hadn't been able to be bathed in anyway, not being nearly covered with either the casts or the tight cloth around his ribs. The only thing the hospital could do was make sure he was cleaned each time he exposed of waste. The nurses were able to wipe patches of skin clean, but they could do nothing for his hair.  
Ryan tried to tighten his arm around Brendon and looked back up to Anthony when a particularly strong wind whistled outside and sailed through the window. The spider curled up as far in the corner as he could get in response, and the string with a plastic end for the blinds swayed, hitting into the wall rhythmically.  
Miss. Ann slowed down her cleaning of the bed rails to a stop when Ryan's eyes fell back straight ahead and widened. His pupils dilated and his mouth fell open. He grunted and pushed his shoulder's back.  
Ryan saw the scene play out perfectly on the starch white ceiling. He wasn't watching from his own eyes, this time. He swore he could see his father's back, watch his fist pound a hole into the wall right next to his ear. Ryan's breathing quickened, but he didn't notice. His face squished and tears began pouring out. "No, no, no," he said. "No. Dad." His breathing hitched. "NO!"  
"Ryan, you're having a flashback," the nurse tried to explain. "It's ok because nothing's happening to you, right now. I want you to give me five things you can feel touching you right now, ok? Can you do that?"  
~~~  
"Uh, ma'am?" Ryan started quietly. "Have you told Grace and Brendon yet?"  
"Told them what?"  
Ryan found Anthony to watch again and tried to shift Flowers around, back to how she was before he was moved. "About the MRI scan?"  
"Oh, that. I contacted the children's home and they should have contacted Grace by now, your potential adopter, technically."  
"Mmm."  
"When is the investigator coming again, miss?" he asked carefully. She must of just told him.  
"Should be here any minute," she said over her shoulder while she wiped down the counter. "Are you ok?"  
"Yeah." Ryan definitely did not want to talk about it. He had just had a fit earlier after some tapping seemed to remind him of parts of his struggle. It started with him sobbing and kicking against the closet door with one foot, then jumped to his father putting a hole in the wall with the same steady beat before he had the pleasure of running through the entire episode before he fell asleep in the ambulance. He woke up whimpering again, he had dreamed of it. Those were the first signs and now the MRI confirmed it with his significantly smaller than usual hippocampus. He hoped now that telling the investigator what had happened wouldn't send him into another set.  
Ryan whimpered at a knock on the door. "Fine," he grumbled, when the woman called to him, sounding anxious. He could hear a man's sigh before more clicking that brought the investigator to leaning on his right side bed rail.  
"Hello, sir," Ryan introduced himself after the Mr. Ermittler. "It's nice to meet you."  
He inclined his head and shifted. "I just need to ask you a few questions, ok? We hope to use what I get from you as evidence when the case comes around."  
Ryan could see he was wearing a dark suit and had just taken off a hat. He had a pad of paper and a pen in hand, along with a small recorder in his lap. "Yes, sir."  
"Do you think you could tell me what happened last Monday night? And why do you think he did that?"  
~~~  
Ryan could only be told he had had another fit because he didn't remember talking to the investigator at all. But he was told it was unusual, as he had not necessarily seemed to have run through it in his head, but he took on a strange persona with widening pupils until he had relaxed enough, after the questioning, to come out of it. He didn't even know the day or time by the time he 'woke up.'  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Brendon ran into Ryan's room, ignoring his mother's hissing at him to stop. Ryan was coming home, finally.  
B skidded to a stop when he got inside and saw Ryan sat up on his bed, between two pieces of rail. He had on all the same casts and clothes, but he was sitting. There was a wheel chair waiting to take him to the car. "Are you still sore?"  
Ryan looked from Miss. Ann to Grace following with a very pissed off look on her face. His eyes were wide, surprised by Brendon's eagerness. He nodded.  
Brendon squealed in front of him and bounced on his feet. He was coming home, finally. He was going to tell Ryan all about everything with how they lived. How relaxed they were. He was going to feed Ryan and tuck him in and talk more about the baby and actually get to show him the website explaining everything.  
"Careful, boys," Miss. Ann called half-heartedly while she offered forward the papers on a clipboard to the other woman. Her son's release forms.  
Ryan didn't want to anger the nurse or Grace, but Brendon was completely oblivious to the impending danger. One was going to get angry and whack them each. Ryan was ok with himself getting hit again, he didn't mind anymore, but not Brendon. "Relax," he mumbled.  
"I can't help it. I can almost hug you, now."  
Ryan sighed. "You're going to make them angry. Just stop, ok?"  
Brendon acted as if he couldn't hear and said, "You are so pretty."  
Ryan's lips curved. "No, you're pretty."  
"Come on," Grace called, not hiding that she was annoyed. She used to act always happy, never bothered in front of Ryan, Brendon's friend. But now she was, she thought, reasonably permanently pissed at him for getting pregnant, in her home while she was at work. And he was going to have to see her real side now anyway, if they would live in the same house, the next bedroom door down.  
Brendon left kisses to Ryan's coarse beard before he crawled off and picked up the crutches for him. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll see she's just cranky. We're gonna put you in my dad's bed while you're still broken, but then you can sleep with me."  
"No, he can't."  
She looked angry, but Ryan knew she was not as cold to him as day one. He hoped he could get her to like him soon.  
~~~  
Brendon held the door open, with the same wide grin he wore the whole way home, for Ryan.  
Ryan looked unsure from Brendon to the inside of his new home.  
The bed hardly dipped when Grace laid Ryan back down, nearly on his back again. He was very apologetic the whole time she had to carry him. "It's ok, honey. Don't worry about it. I just wanted to, you know-. Um, I guess I should tell you how we run things. I usually make dinner every night, but if I don't Brendon, and you, too, of course, can just grab whatever from the kitchen. And all day long, really. He basically eats all day. Um, I know you can't really move, right now, but you can go and eat and drink whatever's in there whenever you're hungry. Uh, we don't do much around here. So that's basically it. No taking your shoes off on the carpet or timed tv watching or set times for dinner or homework or anything."  
"Ok," he said lamely. "Ok, thank you, miss."  
"Grace."  
"Sorry, very sorry," he mumbled, flipping his eyes to his chest.  
~~~  
"He? How do you know it's a boy? I thought it took a couple months."  
"Well, it's very rare to have a girl," Brendon explained again. He was holding his phone in front of Ryan to show him videos and articles as they took a break from the dinner he was trying to feed the other.  
"Ryan, you're supposed to be eating," Grace said when she walked in the room without knocking. "B, why aren't you feeding him?"  
"He made it halfway through his plate and wanted to take a break," he explained. "He's doing really well so I thought I'd show him the website," he mumbled. His mom had hold of his head and wouldn't stop kissing.  
She pointed her finger at Ryan. "You have to finish your plate, sweetheart. You're gonna finish what you have and then you can always have more, you know. And if you think you want to go talk to somebody about this, like a therapist or something, if you think you need help, you just let me know. I can get you to see somebody."  
"We're gonna name the baby George Ryan Ross," Brendon said as soon as Ryan could answer.  
Grace rolled her eyes and sat down on the bed, next to Ryan's legs. "You need to think more about that. Do you really want to carry on that name after what his father did to him?"  
"We're making him the second," Brendon said.  
"The second?"  
"Ryan is the first. His dad and grandfather are not included."  
"The third," Ryan said. "My dad, me, my baby."  
"Awww, your baby. You're gonna be such a good mommy."  
~~~  
The carpet tickled her feet when she hurried into Ryan's room, hair brush and de-tangler in a shopping bag from the store she had just bought each from. Ryan smiled at her when she came in, and he even gave a little laugh when she closed the door. "I don't know if this is gonna work," she started. "But won't it surprise B if we can finish by the time he gets home?"  
"Yeah," Ryan mumbled, not so sure he was actually supposed to answer. He had just gotten his neck brace off the day before, and his ribs and sternum were healing nicely, if still a little sore. Every cast was off and he felt weaker than ever, but he could move on his own. His face was still healing, but it wasn't as bad as it was. He was going to get to go to school on Tuesday and get a whole new wardrobe on Monday. It was Friday and they were trying to get his mess of hair brushed out for the fun of seeing how long it was, but also because Ryan wanted to avoid going to school completely bald for his return.  
~~~  
Brendon knocked on the door as he walked in, but froze in the doorway. He hands flew to his mouth, dropping his book bag. "Is that real?"  
He laughed while he lifted the extensive locks of hair. He had stood up already, to show himself, as soon as Grace had gotten enough out to show it's full length, and the dead, dry end went past his hips. "Yeah."  
Brendon hurried over and stroked it. It was brown, but lighter than the matt was, and it was thin. Probably because most of it was lying on the ground. "Babe, oh my god."  
"Yeah, I know. I'm gonna try to wash it and then your mom said she could cut to my shoulders."  
"Is that how long you want it?" he asked, still petting.  
"Well, I can't go to a barber or anything, because I don't-."  
"Trust anyone with scissors near your neck."  
"Well, yeah. And they'd have to be behind me. And mirrors, or not-. Whatever. So your mom said she would just cut it straight over."  
"You should donate it," Brendon suggested eagerly. "Are you gonna donate it?"  
"I don't think anybody would actually want it. Like, I would if I thought they would use it. But it's so thin and dead and it's been dirty for so long. You know? Rat's literally in it and flies and all."  
"Yeah, but maybe you should donate it anyway and if they use it, they use it."  
"Ok dear."  
~~~  
"Isn't it a little too hot for you to have your shirt still on?" Ryan pondered while he looked up a sagging band logo. "You know? The steam from the water."  
"I'm using cold water," he said. He was leaned over Ryan, struggling to wash his hair since it seemed like it would be too difficult to do on his own. And there was no way Ryan would be able to hold his head up once it was saturated. He was already trying to rest it more on the wall of the tub, as much as he could.  
"You don't wanna get your shirt wet, do you? And with cold water? Then you'll be-. Thanks."  
Brendon rolled his eyes while he tossed it behind them. He ignored Ryan's hands on his chest then hips, even though it did feel good. He could already look down and see Ryan's bare chest, rising and falling. It was still scrappy, but didn't look like Ryan was ready to die.  
"You have to let me play with it before you cut it, though."  
"Please, do," he said. "Just be careful because my scalp hurt like hell. More than it was matted."  
~~~  
Grace sighed from the door, hanging onto the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "I don't know."  
"But you just said!" Brendon whined, sitting on another end of the couch as Ryan, so maybe it wouldn't be so hard to get her to go. It was Monday and Brendon was staying home from school. So was Ryan. Brendon was ‘sick’ and had begged to for her to let him stay, and that he wouldn't want to fool around being ill. And since his mother was taking half a day so she could help Ryan get new clothes, he told her he wanted to go with them.  
Ryan pretended to be busy studying his fingernails. He didn't really want to return to school. Not for somebody to pick on him, he knew he was going to be picked on. Not to be surrounded by people who were possibly, probably a danger to him and also Brendon. He didn't want Brendon to return to school either and only wished their schedules were the same so he could at least always know B was always safe.  
Grace's eyes rolled. She knew Ryan was respectful, but she couldn't trust him. She couldn't just expect them to not do things with each other when the opportunity was there and there was almost no way they would get caught.  
Brendon furrowed his eyebrows. "I can't go, I'm sick," he whined. "And I want Ryan to be with me."  
She was going to be late and she couldn't be late again. "I'm trusting you," she said. "If I find out you two lied to me."  
Brendon sighed and rolled over. "I'm not going to have sex while I'm sick. I'm not going to kiss him."  
Ryan's hair tickled his itchy neck when he turned his head to watch her go. His neck was always itch, especially, when compared to everything else that was also always irritated. Maybe he had a skin condition. He didn't have much time to wonder, though, when Brendon jumped into his lap at the close of the door. "Hello."  
Brendon didn't answer, only pressed their mouths together. It was great kissing Ryan now, now that he didn't always have to cram mints and gum into his mouth to cover up his breath, but now that his mouth was actually clean. He took in a deep breath through his nose smashed against Ryan, holding the other's jaws. He listened to the sound of his mom's car door shut and then the engine go while it backed up. "I love you," he mumbled.  
Ryan smiled and pulled away, putting his hands to Brendon's chest and pushing him back. "I love you, too."  
Brendon sighed and found his way to sit side pressed to front on Ryan's lap. "Let's go take a bath."  
"Why?"  
"Because I love you... and I love baths... Let's go take a bath."  
"Together?"  
"Yeah. But we'll make sure you're really clean before we sit in the water, we don't wanna sit in dirty water. Babe, it's gonna feel so good. You're gonna feel great."  
"What is?"  
"Being clean! Even after all those showers you got before, you still got back into dirty clothes. Oh! I'll put these in the wash while we're in the bath and we'll take a really long one, to relax and get you clean, then you get out and into fresh clothes! You'll love it. Come on."  
Ryan smiled with half of his mouth, making his stupidly fat cheeks squish his eye and making Brendon squeal happily at him when it happened, making him coo and tell him how adorable he was.  
Ryan hobbled over to the bathroom and watched quietly while Brendon undressed. He could tell Brendon was trying, but he enjoyed the great show. Then Brendon undressed him, slowly again, and leaving soft, fluttering kisses making goose bumps from his bellybutton to his ribs while he drew up the navy blue sweatshirt with his nose and inched down his colour matched sweats to where they could fall with his hands.  
Brendon giggled into Ryan's chest when he was being gently pushed back. "Save it for the bath," he was told.  
Ryan sat in his underwear on the toilet seat while he waited for Brendon to get the plastic bag for his cast. The glinting chrome faucet teased him when he looked. Ryan was tempted to turn it on and get in, to feel clean water run down his back instead of sweat. To get some of the mess off before Brendon even returned; he was taking forever.  
Brendon only had to add Ryan's last article of clothing to the rest in the wash before he could help Ryan in. The water was warm on Brendon's foot when he kicked some to the back. He wouldn't plug it until Ryan was clean. Then they could relax.  
Ryan started in the back, but he moved himself forward and on his side under the scorching hot running water, letting it splash off his ribs, his one leg fold against him and one casted out of the tub, over it's wall.  
Brendon was glad to see Ryan's massive smile while he wriggled all cramped under the water. His finger tips felt along gently where Ryan was wet before he started rubbing with his whole hand. Ryan twisted to let his stomach have a turn, encouraging Brendon to keep going. He pouted when Brendon took a cup to catch the flow of water for only a moment. "Good Ryro," he praised. "Good boy, babe."  
Ryan rolled all around under the faucet, getting everywhere from the top of his head to the under of a foot, giggling while it tickled him. "It's getting cold," he said in a laugh. He wouldn't mind if it were ice water, so long as it was clean ice water.  
Brendon wrapped his arms around Ryan's chest from behind and pressed his torso to the other one's back before he rocked him side to side. "We'll turn it off for a while and let it get hot again. I'll get you clean with some soap while we wait."  
Ryan's fists hit his chest and his arms shook while he giggled deeply with excitement. He couldn't remember the last time he was this happy. Actually, it was about a week ago, but didn't last long.  
The purple loofa sponge's leaves collapsed while Brendon drizzled cold, pink shampoo over them.  
Until he could feel the rough sponge on his sensitive back, Ryan was eager and smiling, ready to be scrubbed. "No. It's scratchy," he said quickly and wormed away.  
Brendon rolled his eyes and toyed with the sponge until he got the soap on his hands, which bubbled quickly on Ryan's chest and shoulder and turned brown.  
Ryan looked down to watch the dirty suds fall away. Even before he had to get back into filthy clothing, Ryan's few showers never got him this clean. He was always concerned with going quickly, before his friend's parent's got home, or, one time, even his friend. Plus, the hospital didn't let him leave in the state he came in, so there was less for the soap to work at. And having a bath with Brendon added to his first cleansing experience in years. Ryan went with Brendon's hands and let him get everywhere while praise was laced with being told he looked beautiful with the new weight and the baby over and over again, until he felt pretty ok. He was still going to lose it, but it was nice that Brendon would compliment him like that.  
The water was warm again by the time the only thing left needing washing was Ryan's hair, again. Brendon had gotten up in the middle of the scrubbing of the other's body to change the wash.  
Ryan moaned even louder when they got to his hair. His neck went with it, and even his face, where they could. "Brendon," he whimpered. This was better than their sex was. Way better. He couldn't bite his lip and keep any pleads in. He begged for more water and soap, more lathering and scrubbing. He was moaning. The back of his neck wasn't even itchy, anymore. No part of him was.  
Brendon washed Ryan's hair a few times under the faucet, making sure everything was clean, from behind his ears to his scarred neck. "Baby, you're so pretty," he said. "You've gained a little bit of weight and now you're clean. Are you happy?"  
"I'm so comfortable," he whined. He wasn't able to resist the breakfast Grace had set out for him when she made a complaining Brendon's. He had decided tomorrow was a good day to begin trying to lose weight, mainly vomiting behind their backs. So now his belly was full and Brendon was beginning to fill the tub with more hot water. He hadn't felt comfortable in a long time.  
Brendon towelled Ryan off with the softest bath towel they had once the water had gotten cold and their toes were getting wrinkly. He helped Ryan dress before he pulled the taller one's face down to kiss over the lips. "Still comfy?"  
"Very comfy." Ryan followed Brendon out to the living room and dropped to the floor when he was left alone.  
Brendon wasn't very surprised with the cold bowls of ice cream in his hands, to find Ryan rolling around on the floor giggling, looking like he was trying to scratch at his back. "Have some ice cream," he said and kneeled next to him to give him his bowl.  
~~~  
Grace actually smiled at the two, both of them, sitting on the couch together, watching the animal channel- some puppies tumbling around on the screen. "Are you ever going to grow?" she asked her son, who was sitting in the other boy's lap.  
Brendon wrinkled his nose at her and took Ryan's hand to get him to stop trying to nudge him off. He didn't know yet, but would learn that Grace was a lot less strict that she said. He knew his mother wouldn't mind what they were doing. She wouldn't like it, she wouldn't like her only child touching any boys, but she wasn't going to get angry and ground them each forever, like she said.  
Ryan flashed Grace a smile before bowing his head. He watched out of the corner of his eye her come up to kiss Brendon's hair; she even squeezed his shoulder and touched his arm. He was pretty sure they were beginning to warm up to each other, progressing faster now that they had been in the same house for weeks and had had meals together, some of which were her spoon feeding him. He still stuck close to Brendon, following him around like he might if he were at a friend's, visiting for the first time. Brendon had been setting him up in bed the past few nights he could leave it, basically tucking him in and giving him a goodnight kiss, and promised he would keep doing that until Ryan was completely comfortable, or more until Grace had gotten used to him enough that she wouldn't have a heart attack to see them wake up in the same bed. Ryan wasn't sure he would ever settle in enough to not feel the need to ask for a drink of water, even though Brendon told him he didn't need to whisper he was thirsty in his ear.  
Brendon turned around to straddle Ryan's lap and face him. "Look mom, he's all clean! He took a bath."  
She had a feeling he hadn't taken it alone, but there was nothing she could really do. 16 and 17 year olds were going to do their own thing when left alone in a house. She regretted saying it was ok, but it was over now and there was no changing it. "Yeah? I can tell, his hair is kinda curly. It's really clean, now."  
Ryan tipped his head to see. It was brown, he knew that, and some did curl loosely. He would have never known, it started about halfway down. "Oh, yeah."  
Brendon nodded and ran his fingers through it. They had brushed it once it had dried, it was very soft. "You want to get it cut Ryan?"  
Ryan shrugged. He definitely was not going to ask Grace to spend any of her money taking him somewhere. He didn't like his long hair, but it was better at his shoulders than almost to his knees. Maybe he could take his bike to the cheap little barbers Brendon told him about a few times and use 15 dollars of his own money, once he had gotten his cast taken off. "I don't know," he said. "I do, but."  
"We can go today," Grace said from the kitchen.  
Ryan had to have Brendon repeat the mumble that met his ear before he shook his head. "Not today."  
"Why not?"  
Ryan shrugged. He didn't really know how expensive clothes were these days, but Grace seemed set on buying more for him that day, before he could get the money sealed in the drawer in his room. His room, at home. He wasn't going to let her take him to get his hair cut, too. And he needed his shots. The children's home, the school, and the hospital said. They were going after he got his clothes to the doctor. Then to get his hair cut? He didn't want her to think he felt ok with the pampering. He didn't want to be greedy. He knew she would and he knew she would say she didn't mind.  
Brendon nodded to her before he could turn back to Ryan for a kiss. "I'll get your shoe, ok?"  
Ryan nodded and sat forward, then to the edge of the couch, trying not to look so lazy and helpless with Grace standing just at the TV. He felt awkward and tried to look like he was getting ready to stand. But she wasn't paying attention and Brendon seemed to have forgotten what a shoe even looked like with how long it was taking him to get them. So it was silent, not even the t.v. was playing. And he had nothing to do or think about.  
Brendon smiled when he got back around the corner, but it faded from his mouth while he watched Ryan stare intently at his mother. "Babe."  
Ryan's mouth gaped and he started to lean forward. His eyes softened to a sad expression, then squinted, making him look confused.  
"Mom? Is he ok?"  
Grace turned, made eye contact with Ryan and covered her ears when he screamed. Her and Brendon both hurried forward, but it was her son who kneeled by his side and started to go through the exercises they had looked up to help deal with his flashbacks. He had fallen on a twisted arm and was slowly drawing his knees to his chest, forcing himself to his side, all while struggling to get air in enough for the next shout.  
Brendon found the bear on the couch. They had just been sitting with it. He didn't think Ryan had let go of it since he got it, except for while he took his bath, though Flowers had been in the room. "Look, baby," he called, holding it in front of Ryan's face, even though his eyes were shut. "It's your bear! Ryan, stop, ok? Do you see Flowers? Stop screaming. It's not happening, remember. Just be calm, it's over. This isn't real, what you're doing."  
Ryan fell into hyperventilation and was present just enough to force his arms up and bring the bear back to his chest. He couldn't help the screaming, he tried to stop, but something else was forcing him to do it.  
"Is this his PTSD?" Brendon asked while Ryan was trying to draw in more air. "This is it, right?"  
"I-. Shit," she hissed. "Yeah, yeah. It is. Just sit with him ok? Try and calm him down and we'll see if we can't still go."  
Brendon nodded and crawled roughly over Ryan to be the big spoon.  
"Be careful," she groaned. "You're not supposed to touch him."  
Brendon nuzzled his nose to the back of Ryan's sweet smelling neck and hummed to his shoulder blade. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, hoping Ryan could hear with his one, damaged ear while he was slowly being reduced to crying and heavy breathing. "I don't know how to help you. I'm just going to hold you for a while, ok? I don't know what else to do. But you know you have Flowers. So now you can just relax because your tummy's full and you're clean and you're warm and I'm hugging you. Ok?"  
Ryan nodded as soon as he had time to process what was being said. His chest felt too tight to get in the proper breath, so he went much faster and louder than he should have. He tried to remember what had happened in only the last thirty seconds or so, of course he wasn't sure, but he couldn't remember beginning to scream, only hearing Brendon far away offering him his bear.  
Brendon stretched while Ryan kept trying to curl in on himself. "You're fine. Ok? You're ok."  
Ryan nodded. Flowers tumbled around while he found Brendon's wrist to pull off. He had opened his eyes and saw Grace's legs go around the kitchen.  
Brendon didn't argue, only sat up. He had no idea how Ryan was going to return to school and take all his classes when all it took was a steady beat to set him off to screaming and falling on the floor, or, as they had just seen, sometimes even silence. "We're going to go to the store now, ok? To get you some clothes. You'll be very busy the whole time, I promise. I won't stop talking. And you know me, it'll be easy."  
Ryan followed in sitting. His hair tickled his face while he nodded.  
Grace came back out a few minutes later to see Ryan with his sandals on and a finger through the wired, flowery ribbon of his teddy bear. "You're gonna bring that?"  
Ryan shook his head quickly and let her fall off his finger to the couch. "Not if-. No, of course not, ma'am."  
"Just Grace, ok?" He nodded, eyes getting wider at the correction. It must have been the hundredth time, and he didn't want to find out what her limit was on repeating herself. "Only because I'll bet your dad made you call people ma'am and sir."  
"It's respectful," he mumbled unsurely, lowering his eyes.  
"Yeah, but you called a three year old sir when we were leaving the hospital."  
Ryan nodded. The boy had said hi, so he said hello back. Of course he called the boy sir, the boy was a superior.  
"Right. Well it's something you did when you were being abused, so we're not gonna do that anymore, ok?"  
"Yes, ma'am-. Eh, Grace! Yes, Grace."  
She sighed and came a little closer. "Don't just use Grace in place of it, ok? We need to get you out of the habits you were in with your dad. I know it might be hard to see it in another light, but he was very abusive to you. Do you see? You're scared. I'm just trying to tell you it's ok, that it's all. It's alright if you accidentally call me ma'am or use Grace in place of it a few times, but I just don't want you to think you still have to. You're not going to be abused here. I know I came off as pretty angry when you first came over, when we told you, or when you got home. But I was just upset because you’re pregnant with B’s child. I still am upset, he's only 16. I'm not happy, but I know mistakes can happen, so now I'm here to help. Ok?"  
Ryan nodded. "Yes, Grace-! Yes... Yes."  
She smiled when his anxious eyes found hers. "We're gonna be friends now, ok?" she said. "It was just an accident what happened, I know teenage boys will do what they do. I know you never thought this could ever happen. And I know now you two need help. So we're gonna be friends now, ok?" He nodded again, a shy smile on his lips. "Here, give me a hug."  
Ryan pulled away with a bright grin. He seemed to instantly feel more comfortable with her, as if just the hug had bonded them. But then again, he always had had a problem of getting to comfortable and too attached too quickly. "Thanks," he said quietly.  
"We'll get you out of those habits, ok? No one deserves to be treated that way, ever. And you can bring your bear if you want to."  
Ryan nodded, not quite comfortable enough to argue that he was treated fine.  
~~~  
Brendon smiled up at Ryan in front of a display of deodorants. Flowers was in his hands, going along with his fingers while Ryan listened to Grace.  
"Pick out whichever one you want," she said. "I usually get Brendon this one, I don't know if you want the same." She nodded and smiled when he looked to her with diffident eyes and watched as he reached for a pink one. She almost said, "Oh, honey, that's a girl's," but he had just named a teddy bear he takes everywhere 'Flowers' and she was sure he could tell by the colour and design. She smiled again when he looked to her, almost like he didn't know what to do next. He probably didn't. "Do you want to smell it? So you know if you like it?"  
"You can't do that until you buy it."  
She smiled at his wide eyes and took it from him gently. She pulled the lid off and he looked appalled, but then again, he had the innocence of a ten year old when it came to shopping. And she wasn't sure he went often when he could. She did always try to leave a young, curious, and always hyper Brendon at home, with his father, when she could. "It's ok," she promised him quickly. He had taken a step back. "Ryan, you're allowed to smell things before you buy them."  
Shocked Grace would do that, and in the middle of the store, Ryan was shaking his head. He was even scared. "No, you have to buy it. You can't do that."  
Brendon took it from his mother and brought it to his nose. "I like it," he said, lifting it to Ryan's nose. "It smells pretty, like you look."  
Ryan jerked away. "Stop it," he whined. "Put it back." They were upsetting him, making him very nervous. What if the shop keeper came up and hit them? It could happen. He hated to think it, but they did deserve it.  
Brendon could remember getting this frustrated when he first saw his mom spray some air freshener. "You're supposed to smell it," he assured. "So you know if you like it. Here, try it."  
Ryan moved back. "I don't want to do that," he said. They were really freaking them out. How could they do this? It was like stealing. He'd stolen before, but this was still different. He was never so blatant about it. Plus, it was him. He would never have expected this from them.  
"It's not bad."  
"I don't want to, Brendon," he hissed, getting more and more worried. Were they going to get in trouble? There were cameras all over the place.  
"Ok, well it's pretty and I like it. Do you want it?"  
He looked for the price and saw it was among the cheapest there. "Can I get this one, Grace?" He was still put off, but tried to move past it.  
She nodded. "But you know that one's not really for boys?" She just wanted to make sure, so he wouldn't be embarrassed putting it on in gym class or if he sat with boys and smelled like a flower.  
He nodded. "Yeah. Oh- should I get a boy one?"  
"No, not if you want that one. I just wanted to make sure you knew."  
B added two of the deodorants to the cart that already had school supplies, since Ryan wouldn't be able to get anything from his house until the police would escort him, which they promised would be soon. The only thing he had useful to do with school after only a week of class was a few expensive textbooks, anyway. Grace had a new school bag in the cart, too, so now all they really needed were some clothes.  
Brendon pulled Ryan's face down carefully and held him while he gave him a kiss, making Ryan wrinkle his nose. "What?"  
Ryan shrugged. "My neck," he mumbled when they started following behind Grace again. "Someone's gonna make fun of it." He was already pulling his collar up to his chin.  
"No they won't, baby. You look perfect."  
"Brendon, I know you want me to feel good about how I look, but I also know I don't look good. Don't even try with my neck, it's like I'm ninety in that spot only." He sighed when B pouted up at him. "I can see I'm ugly, B. You don't have to pretend."  
Brendon's shoulder's fell. Ryan's neck did look sort of funky. "Wear a scarf," he suggested.  
"I don't want to; scarves are dumb," he grumbled.  
"Don't be miserable," Brendon groaned. "Now would you like a scarf or not?"  
"Yeah."  
"Um, um, Grace?" Ryan started carefully. She looked to him with lifted eyebrows, waiting. "I have twelve hundred dollars I'm going to give to you once I can get it from my home. I just wanted to tell you now. I know where it is and it's cash and everything, but it's in my old room."  
She shook her head. "Twelve hundred? No, Ryan."  
"But the books... the clothes. I'm pretty sure doctors are expensive. And I of course plan on getting a job. I swear, I will. I just figured, you know. I couldn't look before because I was laid up and I was going to look this weekend, after I get back to school. I-. Well, of course, I mean, unless I should look for one, now. I can. I'll pay for everything I can and I'm gonna save some and I'll-."  
"Right. I'm your guardian now. Now I'm buying you clothes. You keep the money for the baby, alright?" It didn't immediately hit her, but she wondered how a kid like him could get that much money.  
He wouldn't argue, but he would give her his money. For taking him in when she didn't need to. For this shopping trip, for bringing Brendon to see him every week, for feeding him. For getting knocked up by her son.  
"Do you want to try something on?" she asked, returning to the tags and sizes.  
"Um." He didn't want to try anything on, not in the store. Then he might have to come out red faced and tear stained to tell them, in front of other shoppers, the clothes they thought would fit never buttoned around his waist. "I don't-. I mean, of course. If you like."  
She shook her head and flipped through some men's button downs, hoping he wouldn't take them over to the women's section. Of course, she would get him what he liked, but really hoped that if they did end up there, they would only be getting jeans like Brendon's. "No, not if you don't want to. I guess it can be kinda weird. I don't do it. But what do you like, honey? Let's pick something out and you can try it when we get home." She could always just come back for the smaller sizes.  
Ryan wished they would stop looking at some of the smaller sizes there. Now he was going to have to go home and tell them red faced and tear stained that they needed to go back for larger sizes. But he was a little scared to speak up; he wasn't really allowed to speak up and only did with the deodorant because he was so surprised and worried. "I don't think these are gonna fit," he managed to mumble in Brendon's ear when he added green and black, pinstriped, high waisted, slim trousers to their cart.  
Scarves of various prints, colours, and long lengths sitting on top of different patterned or striped button downs were disturbed when Brendon lifted the pants back out. He held them to Ryan's hips and tipped his head.  
Ryan was embarrassed by just that, the contemplation that something he tried to squeeze his fat self into may not fit. He backed up.  
Brendon shook his head. "No, they will, baby. And if they don’t it’s just the baby."  
"I think everything is going to be too small," he grumbled. Ryan felt the intense, physical pain pull in his chest again. His mind was racing. His stomach churned and his legs felt weak. He was scared, he was anxious.  
"No," Brendon sighed and dropped them back in. "You're just doing that thing again. You'll probably have plenty of room in everything."  
Grace lifted an eyebrow while she went through and picked out some brown pants. "What about these, Ryan?"  
Ryan nodded. "I don't think I need anything else," he said quietly. She did say they were friends, now.  
"Mommy, look!" Brendon gasped, picking up a thin, flowery vest. "Can we get him some of these?"  
"If he wants. But ask him, Brendon," she said firmly when he dropped the vest in the cart. "He isn't a baby doll."  
Ryan nodded when Brendon looked and held it up for him. "But I think we've got too much now," he repeated. "I don't really need all this."  
"You need two or three more pants, and then we can be done. Ok?"  
Ryan nodded glumly. He felt like he was taking all her money.  
~~~  
The doctor's office had a small room like a box, separated, but connected with a service window, to the rest of the waiting room. There was a little corner with kid's things in it, like a small, pretend kitchen and a set of beads on twisting rods. Ryan, Brendon, and Grace sat in plastic, maroon coloured chairs, across from a man and woman sitting next to one another. Ryan was the only one bouncing his leg uncontrollably, making his chair rock. He couldn't remember the last time he was to a doctor, what it was like, or what shots felt like. He thought he could see a big, open, white room when he tried to remember his last visit. He hoped he was right. He would rather a big space than a little one when he was taking his family in to potential danger.  
"Ryan, relax," Grace said, touching his knee. He immediately stopped bouncing leg, making her regret trying to calm him down. It was hard to tell if he was trying to act like she was like his father. He did that when she asked him to stop, but he also hugged her, and spoke up in the store. They had talked about it a bit, and she knew he was getting more comfortable when he did that.  
"I'm sorry."  
"It's ok, Ryan. There's nothing to worry about. Haven't you been to a doctor before? When you were younger, at least?"  
"Yeah, but I don't remember," he admitted. "Is the doctor mean? Is he gonna, like, hurt us?"  
"No, you'll be fine."  
The plastic chair leaned when Ryan bent closer to Brendon. "Is he gonna be mad we're gay, too?" he asked quietly. "Let's not-."  
"No," he said, cutting him off. "No, he won't. Nobody here will be."  
Ryan couldn't help his loud breathing, going so fast and light, he got lightheaded. He could feel himself beginning to sweat and shot a hand up to wipe his forehead. He whimpered as quietly as he could when Grace tried to massage his ribs and he tried hiding his head behind Brendon. "'M scared."  
Brendon sat up tall to give Ryan a twisted hug and kiss his cheek. He could feel Ryan relaxing while he held him, but only to pick up worse.  
"Stop," he groaned and tried to pull away softly. "We shouldn't do this in public."  
Brendon's arms gradually loosened. "Why not?"  
"Because. " Ryan ducked his head and sat back. "What if someone like my dad comes along?"  
"You're paranoid."  
"I'm being cautious."  
"George Ross?"  
Ryan started and froze. He whimpered and half-heartedly tried to get his wrist back from Grace when she tugged on it. She kept pulling while Brendon put a guiding hand on his shoulder to get him to stand, before moving it to his back. He dropped his head to watch his feet and the backs of Grace's ankles, content with having Brendon holding his back, while they met the woman. He shied away from her hand and accidentally bumped into the wall. He was always taught to put his hand out first. He was taught that it was more respectful, especially with a woman. He figured he moved too slow for her. His aunt usually was the one to discipline him in private if he failed when she introduced him to someone new. He figured, since his aunt wasn't there, maybe the woman would do it herself.  
Brendon slipped an arm around Ryan's waist and softly guided him back, to meet the woman. "She said her name is Molly."  
"I apologize, miss," he mumbled, almost to himself. "Very sorry, ma'am."  
Grace smiled apologetically and shook her head. "We have a little work to do with him," she said quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear. "And this might as well be his first doctor's visit, so."  
Molly nodded. "That's fine. He's fine. Come on over here and we'll get you started, ok?"  
He had very little doubt in his mind that his father was anything like one of a kind. Ryan knew his father could act perfectly normal one minute, then turn on him the next. These people may be the same. He didn't know, so there was no way he going to walk in relaxed with slacked shoulders. He was going to do everything he did when he was in the care of his father. Under his father's family's impossibly strict, draconian regime and the spontaneous, violent outbursts of his father himself.  
Grace got a little nervous when they were brought to the scale. She wasn't sure Ryan would get on.  
"Here, do you wanna just step up on this box for me? Yeah, there you go. It's ok," she coaxed when he glanced up, enabling her to see the wild look of fear set in his eyes. "Don't even worry about it," she said, keeping on when she saw it was working.  
Ryan found it was always easiest to just listen to his family when he knew they were being sarcastic with the praise and the hushing, or when they faked it, every time. He just had to wait for the beating. They often talked to him like that when they had to take him out in public, so they would seem nice. But as soon as they could get him into a bathroom or empty hall, they let go. Maybe if he could get Grace and Brendon to stay with him the whole time, this lady would never get her chance. Though he would naturally make them go if he caught her cooing to them. He wouldn't risk them just to be comforted when he was scared of something new. He would walk himself home so they could get in the car fast enough to get away.  
Ryan tried not to hear the mammoth number she read gently out loud, but failed. He was up two pounds and had serious trouble restraining himself from turning and storming out of the room to sob. He shuddered when Brendon touched his back and snaked away, hoping it wasn't already too late and that Brendon hadn't already felt how soft he was.  
B knit his eyebrows when Ryan pulled away and sniffled. "This is good," he promised. "You look great, ok?"  
Ryan pulled away with more urgency. There had been times when they stopped what they were doing only to pull him aside so they could correct him. "Stop," he hissed from behind the Molly, on the way down a short hall to a new room. It was tiny. She let herself in and stood to let him in next.  
Grace could see him beginning to panic again. "Maybe we can leave the door open the whole time?" Grace suggested. "He's pretty claustrophobic."  
"Sure."  
Ryan took in a deep breath and started forward. Brendon followed, then Grace, while Molly made him sit on the end of a sort of bed like the ones the nurses had, only this one had a stripe of paper down the middle. She pulled out a little step for him that came out like a drawer from the base and encouraged him to use it. A chair and one of two stools were taken by either Grace or Brendon. He watched the woman closely when she reached in a basket on the wall by the head of the bed-like thing he was on. She took out the blue thing, with Velcro like a shoe and a black tube with a sphere at the end. Visiting doctors was never something he had to do often in the first place, and was never something memorable. He could only say for sure that he had gone once when he was a kid and only could recall a snapshot of the floor, some cabinets, and the wall. Everything else was gone. The paper crinkled loudly beneath him when he shied away from her at first, hoping this was routine. He only knew about the scale because the nurses had one. Luckily, they had never put him on it, before.  
Molly got his wrist and pulled slightly. "I've got to check your blood pressure," she explained. "Calm down, hon. I'm just going to put this around your arm, ok?" He tossed his head down and pushed his arm to her. "It's going to get tighter slowlu, alright?"  
Ryan didn't hear anything that she was saying, only knew that she was saying it gently. He gave her his arm when she asked him for it and decided it was better not to watch. He shook his head, trying to let her know it was working, he was in pain. At least, a discomfort. But maybe she would think he was in pain. That would be good for him, if she were to think she was already taking it far. She wouldn't want to kill him. He tried even to get his arm back when his hand got a bit colder. He wondered why she was even wasting her time doing this to him. He had endured a whole lot worse, but still hoped this was no opener.  
Next was something Ryan recognized. The stethoscope. Maybe he was a little too excited when he pointed to his heart.  
"Yeah! So I can hear your heart. Do you want to let me?"  
Brendon smiled at his mom with a face that almost said, 'I told you so,' when he saw her notice Ryan touch where his heart should be. Ryan was way too childish, too sensitive and boring to ever go to a party. He would just think it was scary and want to go home. Grace smiled at him and shrugged.  
Ryan hung his head so she could, but gasped when she stuck her cold hand under his sweatshirt and tried to pull away. He didn't think she would go under his shirt. Molly put a hand on his back to direct him back. "Sounds good, hon! I think you have a healthy heart. Now I want to hear you breath, ok?"  
He nodded and was less surprised when she put her hand under his top again. He breathed only when he was told. Molly was clearly a hell of a lot stricter than anyone he'd ever met before. He nearly pulled away when he saw a bit of a worried look on her face.  
"What's the matter?" Grace asked. She was nearly praying in her head that she hadn't inherited some kid, who she was still a bit unsure of, with expensive medical problems never realized before. She didn't doubt he could have something wrong with his respiratory system caused by living in the stench he did. Then there was that house fire he was in for more than five minutes at the end. She was told they were surprised he didn't suffocate.  
"It just sounds a little wheezy," she mumbled, moving to the next spot on his chest. "He's probably just getting a cold. I would follow up on it, though. Make sure it's nothing more than that."  
Ryan arched his back when she moved over to listen from there. She told him to relax again, so he tried. But he couldn't see her and worried over it. Paper crinkled with his every move while she led him to lay back. He felt very vulnerable with his chest and stomach up, the vital places that needed most protecting. He attempted shooting back upright when she started pressing down on his belly, but her other hand was already on his shoulder to lay him back down. She told him to relax, yet again, but he couldn't when she was trying to discipline him in such a sensitive area. He could die easily if she took it too far. "Please," he started, ready to beg for his life. He managed to sit up and barred her with his arm. "Please, miss. I'm sorry."  
"I just want to feel your diaphragm while you breath. Make sure everything is ok. Sound good?"  
"Please don't kill me," he whined, unable to stop himself from getting emotional. "Please, miss."  
"Oh," she sighed. "No, sweetheart. I'm not going to do anything like that! Grace here told me this is your first doctor visit. Right?"  
He laid down again when she steered him to by pushing carefully on his shoulders. "Mm-mm," he said while he shook his head. "I went once before but I was little and I don't remember anything, ma'am."  
"Oh," she said, sounding intrigued. "Ok. Well I'm one of the doctor's assistants, here. I don't think you need to see the doctor today, since you're just getting a check up and then some vaccines. So now I'm just making sure you're healthy. We got your height and weight, your blood pressure, your heart, you're breathing. I want to check your spine since I guess that means you haven't had a physical in a while, or at all. So we can just make sure it's straight." She helped him sit up. "Does that sound good?"  
Ryan nodded. He kept his eyes wide and watching everything she did, making sure her hands to help him off and to the ground were not doing anything else. He checked that they were empty, swivelling his head around to catch them when he could. She had him bend over slightly and put his chin to his chest, but he kept moving it to see where she was. The woman was patient with him and didn't even seem to get any angrier when Brendon came up to pet his head while she felt along his back. He was sure she was going to stab him, but it was either take one knife, or needle, with what she was saying, or jump around and protest to risk further injury, plus his family. He cried gently while she was still out of sight with hopes that she would like hearing him upset and in pain, like his old family sometimes did.  
Brendon took Ryan's hand when he was sitting again and leaned up to kiss his nose. Ryan face was still run with fear while Molly was telling Grace he was healthy before she could go get all the vaccines he needed. Ryan had a bit of catching up to do.  
Ryan tried to see her when she came back in, only aware that she had a little box with her, this time, while he still needed his head hung. "Ready for the first one?" she asked and picked something out of the box. The cap to the pen-like thing was taken off to show Ryan a glinting needle. So she was stepping it up. She was really ready to stab or cut him, now.  
"It's ok," Brendon promised while he squeezed Ryan's hand. "She's-. Babe, it's only a needle. Ryan, stop."  
He started by moaning before she could even touch him, and then moved on to lift his head to shake it and to watch her closer. "No," he said, leaning back.  
"Yeah, it's only a needle, sweetheart. I'm going to give you a vaccine, so you won't get sick. It's going to help you."  
Ryan went from quiet mewling to loud, bothered whining. "No," he said again, while she rolled up his sleeve for optimum stabbing conditions. He sat still enough while she rubbed his arm with gloved fingers, but jerked away when she brought the end of the needle to his skin. It was fight or flight, he wasn't even in control when he held onto the side of the bed-thing and pulled himself away. He couldn't help, but deeply regretted, the lifting of his feet and pushing them against her, not entirely kicking.  
Brendon opened his arms for Ryan coming his way. He kissed Ryan's neck while the other pressed the bare arm to his chest, it seemed so no one could get it. "I do this all the time, babe," Brendon said after making sure he was talking to Ryan's right ear. "It really doesn't hurt."  
"She's gonna kill us," he told Brendon's chest. "She's gonna stab me with it and she's gonna kill me."  
"She's really not. Here, just sit up, ok," he groaned while pushing a resisting Ryan up right. The chair legs screeched on the tile when Brendon drug the chair over so he could gain leverage to hold Ryan's head steady, so Ryan wouldn't be able to watch. Grace even came up to hold down his scrunching legs while Molly held his arm down with one hand.  
"You ready?" she asked while she brought the needle back to his arm. He groaned so loudly she moved to close the door without his knowledge before coming back. "Ok, one," she started with the needle already in. She pushed down the plunger, prompting Ryan to moan desperately. The boy wriggled his way free and got to the other side of the room.  
"Ryan," Grace sighed.  
Ryan immediately sunk to the floor when he reached the corner and wrapped his head in his arms. "She's gonna kill me," he began to chant while he stayed perched on his feet to rock himself forward back. "She's trying to kill me!"  
"I'm sorry," Brendon said in a sigh. He followed behind Ryan and squat next to him.  
Ryan shook his head while he rocked himself faster. He hummed until he groaned before Brendon could steady him. "I want to go," he whined. "We can't stay here, anymore."  
"We're going home as soon as you let the lady finish giving you your shots. So just get up, ok? That's all we have left. Then we get to leave, babe. We're gonna go home and you can try on your clothes and then I'll get you in bed. Alright?"  
Ryan choked back a scream before he shouted, "Get back, Brendon! Stop it! Go away."  
Grace looked to the other woman with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said through the other shaking her head, dismissing it politely. "I just adopted him. He was... treated very poorly for a very long time. I never thought he would react like this. It's just-. Him and Brendon are dating and I think he's freaking out because his family was all very opposed to things like that. And he has PTSD and I don't know if that's why but I think he thinks everybody is out to get him."  
Molly started by shaking her head before she nodded. The doctor was in the room, ready to help try to get Ryan relaxed enough to get his shots, or calm enough to see him go, afraid he may be too stressed.  
Ryan quieted down when he could feel a man had joined Brendon, though he kept rocking, going even faster and slamming himself to the wall.  
"Hey, just relax," Dr. Arzt said with a hand on Ryan's knee. "No need to worry, ok? You need your shots, don't you?"  
Ryan pressed up into the corner and tried to sit taller each time he thought the man had gotten closer. "Please," he begged. "Please, sir. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, just let me go."  
"Ok. Alright. We won't do anything you can't handle. Just try and calm down so we can get everything sorted out."  
"She's trying to stab me," he hissed. Ryan's body faced the rest of the room, but he twisted his neck to speak almost right into the corner. "She's gonna stab me! She stabbed me!"  
"Nobody's stabbing you, bud."  
"Ryan."  
"Right. Nobody has stabbed you, ok, Ryan? What I think is she was just trying to give you your shot. You need to get all your shots so we can make sure you stay healthy. They're vaccines. But there's only one way we can vaccinate you."  
Brendon turned by the tapping on his shoulder. "Ryan, look," he said, twisting back. "That Miss. Molly has a band aid for you. Here, I'll do it, ok?"  
"Oh, see!" Dr. Arzt tried. "You already got one, huh? Now you just need a couple more before you can go." Ryan shook his head quickly, whining a quiet "No." "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, come one. Get up and I'll give you the shots you need. Ready? Come on, get up."  
Ryan pushed himself up, leaning into the corner, still, and got back to the bed by moving as far as he could around the people, with his head hung, his eyes lifted to watch them. Grace helped him back onto the blue vinyl before Brendon could hop up and sit next to him.  
Brendon sat tall and hugged Ryan's head, pulling him down to bring it to his chest, when he saw the doctor turn around with a new needle. Grace got Ryan's legs again and Molly took the arm no one else could restrain while Dr. Arzt held down the arm he was injecting. "Booooop," the doctor said while he pushed down the plunger. Ryan was squirming and whimpering, but was too weak to overcome them again, now that they were more prepared. "Don't let anyone punch you in the arm," the doctor said while he pushed the next plunger. Ryan renewed the squirming and the crying with each of the next three shots, but it was over before long.  
Brendon took his arms off of Ryan's head without hurry when the doctor pulled his sleeve back down. "Good job!" he praised, going along with everyone else. "You did so good."  
Grace took the lollipop on Ryan's behalf when the boy just looked at it and pulled away like it might be another needle. She thanked the doctors before taking her boys up to the window to pay.  
~~~  
Brendon smiled at Ryan exiting the bathroom. He sat on the couch with his mother, not allowed to help Ryan dress. This was the first outfit, so far.  
Ryan made his way over and stopped to stand full height on one foot right in front of B.  
"They're kinda loose," he said, taking the waist band and pulling it around. "But you do still have a little bit of weight to gain."  
"No," Grace joined and leaned over to pinch them on the seam on the side of his thigh, then behind his knee. "They're not too loose, Brendon, they're just not skin tight."  
"So too lose," he said with finality. "But what did the hospital say? Ten pounds underweight, still?"  
His soft scarf brushed his chin when he nodded. That's what the hospital said, but he said forty-two pounds overweight.  
Brendon turned his attention next to the densely patterned button down and the brown vest under the thick, grey plaid scarf. "You look very good, Ryan," he said. "Very, very nice. I think people will be very impressed." He giggled and slowly pulled Ryan down, who fell to straddle his lap. "I love it, Ryan."  
"Brendon," Grace groaned. "I get that you two are going out. You don't need to remind me every three minutes."  
"Sorry," he mumbled. He had forgotten she was there. "Go try on the other stuff."  
Ryan sighed.  
"Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?" Brendon asked, sitting forward to press his cheek against Ryan's swollen abdomen.  
"Mm-hm."  
Ryan looked down on a smiling Brendon and smiled back. He didn't like it there. He wanted his father and he wanted it to be Sunday. He didn't want to be pregnant. But he still smiled at his love until his love got a kiss goodnight from Grace. It was beginning to make his heart ache. He was jealous.  
Grace saw his smile instantly fall when she said goodnight to her son. She stood up and gave him a hug without warning. "Have a good sleep ok, sweetheart?" The smile returned and even looked more genuine.  
Ryan nodded. "Yes. You, too, Grace."


End file.
